


This Don't Even Feel Like Falling

by DizzyRedhead



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Dirty Talk, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, I Blame Tumblr, I Don't Even Know, Light Dom/sub, M/M, PWP, Panic Attacks, Praise Kink, Shower Sex, Under-negotiated Kink, Use Your Words, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-09-08 05:27:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 39,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8832199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyRedhead/pseuds/DizzyRedhead
Summary: Jack just wants to sleep. He didn't expect any of this. This wasn't the plan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An alternate look about what might happen after Jack bursts in on Bitty in the Haus bathroom, inspired by [this post by itsybittle](http://itsybittle.tumblr.com/post/136915349670/why-is-there-no-fic-in-which-jack-angrily-storming)
> 
> I hit a deadline like 5 days early, so I rewarded myself by writing Zimbits porn. That's what you do, right?
> 
> As always, thanks to raspberrycordial and ahausonfire for being terrible enablers and the best cheer-readers I could ask for!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during the events of [2.1 Moved In](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/99366428807)

Jack just wants to  _ sleep _ . He was up late last night watching tape, because this is his last year, and he’s determined to be the best captain he can be. To be the captain that his team deserves. He’d planned on sleeping until at least eleven to make up for the number of times that he’d started just one more video. And now, even with the pillow over his head, the music and the singing seeps through, just loud enough to keep him from falling back to sleep.

He acknowledges, if only to himself, that in any other situation he wouldn’t really mind. Bittle has a nice voice, surprisingly rich and mellow to come out of such a compact body. But it is  _ too loud _ for the Haus on a Sunday morning when people are  _ trying to sleep _ . 

Bittle doesn’t even notice the bathroom door open, or at least he keeps singing along to the music coming from the tiny speaker on the bathroom counter. Jack was going to wait for acknowledgement, he was, and he was going to civilly ask Bittle to keep the noise down and then he was going to go to bed. But he feels like an idiot standing there on the other side of the translucent shower curtain when Bittle either doesn’t notice him or refuses to acknowledge him. 

Jack’s hand moves as if of its own volition, pulling the shower curtain back.

“Bittle!”

Bittle jumps, clutching the bar of soap to his chest. “Hello,” he says, the quiet voice a sharp contrast to the full-voiced singing of a moment ago.

“What are you doing?” Bittle asks, his eyes widening, his voice rising sharply. “I’m not decent.”

Jack shakes his head, because of all the things-- “Seriously? Bittle, we’re on the same team--I’ve seen--”

“Let me bathe!” Bittle yells, hands fisted at his sides, and yeah, they’ve shared a locker room, but what’s that saying about nakedness being often seen but seldom looked at? Jack hasn’t looked, really  _ looked _ at Bittle before, has done his best not to. But he’s looking now, can’t seem to stop his eyes from following the water droplets that trickle down Bittle’s lean, muscular chest. 

He has to fix this, has to stop somehow, so he does his best to get things back onto a more normal footing. “Then stop singing Justin Bieber or whatever-- _ don’t splash me with water!”  _ he sputters as the first handful of water hits him square in the chest.

Bittle cups his hands and flings water at Jack again, hitting a little higher this time. “ _ Jack Laurent Zimmermann do not blaspheme!” _

And this is the part where Jack is supposed to chuckle and back out of the bathroom and apologize for being a grump later on, when they’re both safely dressed. Except he can’t seem to make his feet move, because Bittle’s eyes are locked onto Jack’s chest where the wet fabric of his t-shirt is clinging. Jack can’t help the way his gaze slides lower to see that Bittle’s cock is hard against his thigh, the way his mouth waters. This isn’t the plan, this isn’t how this year is supposed to go, but Jack  _ wants,  _ clear and sharp and almost painful in its intensity, and he can’t make himself walk away from that.

They don’t speak. The music playing from the little speaker fills the room, the tension between them winding tighter until it seems any word, any movement might break the spell. The shower spray further dampens Jack’s shirt with every second he stands there, and Bittle’s tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“Your shirt is getting soaked,” he says, his voice barely audible.

“Huh,” Jack says, looking down like he’s surprised. The plan forms in his head with the sudden clarity that usually only comes to him on the ice and he pulls the shirt up over his head, lets it fall to the bathroom floor. “I was very rude,” he says quietly, hooking his thumbs in the waist of his sleep shorts. “I’m sorry.”

Bittle honest-to-god squeaks when Jack pulls his shorts down the first inch. “What--what are you doing?”

Jack smiles, pushing the shorts down the rest of the way and stepping into the shower, pulling the curtain closed behind him. “Apologizing.” 

He half expects to hear that squeaking noise again when he slides to his knees, but Bittle just looks at him with those wide, wide eyes. “Can I?” Jack asks. He’s pretty sure he read the signs right, but “pretty sure” isn’t good enough when he’s about to do this with a teammate.

“Lord, yes,” Bittle--Eric breathes. “Am I dreamin’?”

“Do you usually dream about me naked in your shower?” Jack asks with raised eyebrows, because this is important information that he needs to have.

Eric flushes even pinker. “None of your business, Mister Zimmermann. I believe you said something about apologizin’?”

A shiver runs down Jack’s spine at the firm, authoritative tone of Eric’s voice, his cock going from half-hard to fully erect almost instantly. “Sorry,” he says again, looking up from under his lashes. He wants to see Eric’s face as Jack wraps a hand around the base of his cock and licks a teasing line down the cut of muscle arrowing from his hip to his groin, the way his eyes flutter shut when Jack finally closes his mouth over the head of his cock and slides slowly down.

Jack has to close his own eyes then to keep the spray out, but that just makes it even better. It’s been a long time since he gave a blow job, but it comes back to him quickly, how to swirl his tongue around the head, how to work his way down slowly so he doesn’t gag himself. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed the warm, solid weight on his tongue, the stretch of his mouth, the way he could just focus on the physical task and let everything else slide away.

“Fuck, Jack,” Eric groans above him, his fingertips barely brushing over Jack’s cheeks, hands gently cupping his face. Jack’s dimly aware that he’s never heard Eric actually swear before and he files that away for later consideration as he moves Eric’s hands gently but firmly onto the back of his head. Eric takes the hint almost immediately, his fingers curling into Jack’s hair, and the little tugs are so perfect that Jack can’t help but moan.

“That’s so good, Jack, honey” Eric says. His legs are shaking, just a fine tremor under Jack’s hands, but his voice is strong and sure, rough in a way that Jack’s never heard before but that sends shivers down his spine. “You’re so good.”

Jack moans again, overwhelmed by the words, the sensations, and Eric echoes him with another groan. “I’m close,” he gasps. “Jack, I’m so close--”

Jack redoubles his efforts, despite the little voice in the back of his head that’s telling him it’s a stupid risk. He’s always so careful, all the time, but he wants this, wants Eric’s hands fisted in his hair, Eric’s cock in his mouth, Eric’s voice curled caressingly around his name.

“Oh, Jack,” Eric groans, his hips thrusting just that little bit deeper. Jack swallows as his mouth fills with the thick fluid, tightening his grip on Eric’s legs as the other boy has to release his grip on Jack’s hair to brace his hand on the shower wall. 

After a few minutes, Jack finally, reluctantly lets Eric’s softening cock slip from between his lips, forces his fingers to loosen and let go so he can get to his feet, his knees aching a little from the cold, hard tile.

“Oh, my,” Eric sighs, finally opening his eyes and turning off the water, which Jack suddenly realizes is barely lukewarm. “Well. That was not what I expected when you opened that curtain.”

“Me either,” Jack admits. It’s ridiculous to feel shy when he just sucked Eric off, but he does, keeping his eyes averted. “I--”

Eric’s hand lands on Jack’s hip and his cock gives a hopeful twitch, emboldened by the proximity. “Let me help you with that,” Eric says, that snap of command back in his voice, and Jack can’t do anything but nod.

He has the brief, nonsensical thought that he’s never going to be able to watch Eric play again without thinking about this moment, Eric’s clever fingers wrapped around his cock the same way they wrap around his hockey stick, stroking just a shade too slowly, too loosely, but still so good that Jack’s eyes try to roll back in his head, his other hand a warm, comforting anchor on Jack’s arm.

“Tell me what you like,” Eric says. “You were so good for me, honey, I want to make it good for you.”

“Just--a little tighter,” Jack breathes, groaning when Eric follows his directions instantly. “Faster, fuck,  _ ouais _ , Eric…”

“Come on, honey,” Eric coaxes. “Want you to come too, you did so good--”

Jack has no idea what words slip out of his mouth as he comes, too overwhelmed with sensation to focus on anything other than his release. This is nothing like his normal quick, practical masturbation sessions, just enough to quiet his libido so he can focus on important matters. This is intense, rolling through his body like an ocean wave, leaving him spent and gasping on the shore when it finally recedes.

Eric’s hand is rubbing soothingly up and down his arm when Jack becomes aware of the rest of his body again. “There we go, honey. Back with me?”

“ _ Ouais,”  _ Jack says, but Eric’s forehead furrows a little, so that must not be right. He searches his mind for the English words. “Yeah, I’m--I’m good.”

“You sure are,” Eric agrees cheerfully, taking his hand off Jack’s arm to pull the shower curtain back. Jack absolutely doesn’t instantly miss the warmth, and he certainly doesn’t watch like a lonely puppy as Eric crosses to the sink and washes his hands.

It doesn’t take long, but it’s still enough time for Jack’s brain to get back to its favorite pastime, listing all the ways this could go wrong. But then Eric turns and smiles at him, saying, “Well? Are you just gonna stand in there all day?” 

Jack actually trips over the edge of the shower in his eagerness to get out, catching the shelf with all of Holster’s hair products in his flailing and sending it crashing to the floor. He curses at it as he regains his balance, the Quebecois words flowing naturally from his mouth, but he can’t actually be angry, not when Eric has his hands pressed to his mouth, nearly doubled over with laughter.

This wasn’t in the plan, Jack thinks, but maybe it’s time to make a new plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ~~am absolutely NOT writing~~ have outlined the canon-parallel AU following this where they fuckbuddy for the entire semester and are idiots about their feelings that are CLEARLY THERE. ~~Nope. Not happening.~~ My brain is terrible.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric doesn't want to talk about his session with the coaches. He wants to take action.
> 
> Takes place after the events in [2.2 Square One](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/100536456432).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I lied. My brain helpfully decided to tell me exactly how I should write this AU, so it's happening! Updates will probably be sporadic because this fic does not fit into my careful writing plans (which should not be surprising to anyone who's familiar with me at all)
> 
> Tags have been updated to reflect what's happening here, so please check them before reading!
> 
> In other news, I have forgotten most of the French I used to know and I definitely don't speak Quebecois, so feel free to correct any of the words or phrases I used!

Jack looks up from his book open on his desk as Eric pushes open his door and slips inside, closing it behind him and quietly turning the lock. “Bittle? Are you--”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Eric interrupts. He knows his eyes are still a little red from his crying jag, but that’s not what he came here for.

“Okay,” Jack says slowly, setting his book aside. “Do you want to start checking practice again?”

Eric takes a deep breath and starts across the room. “Probably a good idea, but I don’t want to talk about that right now either. Right now I want to blow you. If that’s okay,” he adds as he kneels on the floor in front of Jack’s chair.

“ _Crisse,”_ Jack breathes, his pupils wide as he looks down at Eric. “Bittle--are you sure? You don’t have to--”

“I want to,” Eric says again, closing his mouth firmly before he can say something stupid like _I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more_.

They haven’t talked about what happened in the shower the previous week, their relationship outwardly unchanged. But Eric’s relived it every night before going to sleep, his mind’s eye filled with the memory of Jack stripping off his clothes, going to his knees on the shower floor. He’s pretty sure he’s going to spend the rest of his masturbatory life jerking off to the memory of Jack’s mouth stretched around his cock, the way Jack moaned when Eric’s fingers tugged on his hair, the way he shivered when Eric told him how good it was.

For all he knows it was a one-time thing; he’d met plenty of guys in figure skating who just wanted to experiment. And then the next practice or the next competition would come and they would pretend not to see Eric, like ignoring him could erase the fact that they’d given him an incredibly mediocre handjob in a closet.

He shakes himself out of the memories before he can really taste the bitterness. That was then, this was now. And if he only gets one more shot at this, he wants to make it count.

“Please?” he says, looking up at Jack in a way he hopes is sexy. Judging from the way Jack swallows thickly, he seems to have hit the mark. “I want to.”

“I--yes,”Jack stammers, his hand hovering in the air over Eric’s shoulder before he pulls it back to the arm of his chair, gripping tightly. “Yes, of course.”

Eric shifts closer, sliding his hands up Jack’s thighs as he settles between them. The powerful muscle flexes under his hands, warm even through the fabric of Jack’s basketball shorts. Jack’s already at least half-hard, a distinct bulge under the thin fabric. Eric pauses when his hands reach the waistband, looking up at Jack again for confirmation.

Jack looks fucking wrecked already, his teeth digging into his lower lip, his eyes dark and intent on Eric’s face. He lifts his hips when Eric tugs on the waistband of his shorts, letting Eric pull them down his legs to the floor.

He hisses out a breath when Eric skims his fingers teasingly back up, shifting restlessly in his chair. “Something you wanted?” Eric asks archly, mapping out every inch of Jack’s lower body except for his cock, hard enough now that it’s standing up a little, the foreskin pulled back under the head. There’s something wonderfully filthy about this, getting ready to suck Jack off in his desk chair.

Eric’s expecting Jack’s captain voice to come out here, the crisp commands he throws out so effortlessly on the ice. What he gets, though, is Jack’s grip tightening on the arms of his chair, Jack’s eyes pleading. “Please,” he says hoarsely. “Please touch me.”

“Good boy,” Eric murmurs without thinking, shocked when a shudder runs through Jack’s entire body. He wraps a hand around the base of Jack’s cock, tucking that piece of information away for later, and licks across the head, gathering the droplet of precum that had formed there onto his tongue.

Jack groans above him, so Eric does it again, circling the head with little kitten licks. “Bittle, please,” Jack breathes.

“Ask me for what you want,” Eric says, looking up at Jack.

“Please,” Jack says, his voice low and rough in a way that sends shivers down Eric’s spine. “Please suck me.”

“Like this?” Eric asks, placing a sucking kiss on the head. He probably shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he is, but it’s a heady feeling, having all the power and strength that is Jack Zimmermann at his mercy. It warms a place inside him that he didn’t know was cold, makes the tight ball of tension in his gut unknot, just a little

An inarticulate, wordless noise breaks out of Jack’s throat. “Deeper,” he pleads, “want my cock in your mouth, please…”

“Okay, honey.” Eric rubs his free hand soothingly over Jack’s thigh. “You did so good, telling me what you wanted. Can you keep your hands on the chair for me?”

Jack nods frantically. “Yes, yes, I can, I’ll be good--”

“I know you will,” Eric says, watching in awe as a tiny bit of tension bleeds out of Jack’s muscles. “Hold on for me, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for another affirmative before he takes Jack as deep as he can. It’s not terribly impressive; he hasn’t had any call for these skills for a long time. It’s good enough, though, judging from the shaky exhale Jack lets out, from the way the chair creaks just a little under his grip.

“ _Crisse_ ,” Jack breathes again, his voice reverent. “Fuck, that’s--fuck.”

Eric can feel the tension in Jack’s legs, the way he’s holding himself back from thrusting up into Eric’s mouth, the way his abs are shaking inches from Eric’s face as he works his way down until his lips meet his hand.

When he starts moving his mouth and his hand in tandem, Jack starts talking, a stream of Quebecois flowing from his lips. Curses at first, Eric thinks, but then the tone turns pleading.

“ _S’il te plait,”_ Jack says, his forearms flexing, his fingers still wrapped around the arms of the chair. “Bittle, _s’il te plait, je dois jouir, puis-je?”_

Eric pulls off reluctantly, keeping his hand moving. “You have to speak English, honey. What do you need?”

“ _Je--”_ Jack sucks in a shaking breath. “I need to come. Please. Can I?”

“Of course you can, sweetheart,” Eric says. There’s no way he can deny Jack when he’s like this, shaking with arousal, clearly barely hanging on. “You’re being so good. Do you want to come like this, or in my mouth?”

Jack swallows, licking his lips. “Your--your mouth?”

“Okay,” Eric says, leaning back down. “You can come whenever you’re ready, honey. Just let me know, okay?”

“ _Calisse de tabarnak,”_ Jack groans as Eric takes him deeper. The Quebecois words falling out of his mouth get more and more strained with every movement. “ _Je vais--_ I’m going to--I’m about to--”

Eric pulls back and sucks on the head, hollowing his cheeks, and Jack lets out an explosive breath as he comes, bitter, salty liquid flooding Eric’s mouth until he swallows. Eric sits back on his heels when Jack sags into his chair, just enjoying the sight.

From the waist up, Jack looks somewhat normal, still wearing his t-shirt, although his face is flushed like he just got back from his morning run, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. But his hands still clutch the arms of the chair in a death grip, and his lower body is completely naked, his softening cock lying along one muscular thigh.

 _I did that_ , Eric thinks, looking at him, satisfaction burning in his veins. _‘Issues with physicality’ my ass._

But this isn’t the time for that. He rests his hands lightly over Jack’s, “You did so well, honey,” he says softly. “You were so good. You can let go now, okay?”

Jack blinks at him, but his fingers uncurl slowly. “I--” he had to stop and clear his throat. “I forgot.”

“That’s okay,” Eric says softly, because Jack looks a little fragile right now, as ridiculous as that words sounds when applied to a big Canadian hockey player. “Was that--was that okay?”

The flush on Jack’s cheeks deepens as he ducks his head. “Yeah,” he says, his voice barely audible. “I--I liked it.”

Eric lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Oh, good. I really don’t know where any of that came from.”

“What about you?” Jack asks, moving his foot to nudge lightly at the erection Eric had all but forgotten.

“Oh, I can--it’s fine,” Eric says. “Don’t worry about me.”

Jack’s face falls, just a little. “Oh, okay. I wanted--never mind.”

Eric melts, because apparently Jack’s mournful eyes are his kryptonite. “What did you want, honey? You can tell me.”

“I wanted--can I suck you? Please?”

All of the breath leaves Eric’s lungs in a whoosh. “Of course you can, if you’re sure. You don’t have to feel like you have to--”

Jack shakes his head. “I want to. Please.”

“Okay,” Eric breathes, the last syllable turning into a squeak when Jack reaches down and just… picks him up, lifting him to his feet.

“These shorts oughta be illegal,” Jack murmurs, pushing the offending article of clothing off Eric’s hips and letting them fall to the floor, leaving him naked from the waist down.

Eric can’t help smiling. “Why, Mr. Zimmermann. You don’t like my shorts?”

The little huff of breath Jack let out shouldn’t have been as adorable as it was. “Maybe I like ‘em a little too much. Especially when you’re bent over to get something out of the oven.”

Before Eric can process that admission, Jack slides down to kneel at his feet, his mouth closing warm and wet over Eric’s cock. “Oh, my lord,” Eric moans, his hands coming up automatically to tangle in Jack’s hair, the need to orgasm suddenly immediate and pressing. “Jack, honey, that’s so good, you’re so good at that.”

Jack moans around Eric’s cock, taking it deeper, deeper, until his nose is brushing the little trail of blond hairs on Eric’s stomach.

“I’m not gonna last long,” Eric warns, his whole body shaking. He has to reach out and brace himself on Jack’s desk to keep from collapsing, his knees weak. He’d probably last longer if he didn’t look down, but he can’t tear his eyes away. Jack’s mouth is obscene, stretched wide around Eric’s cock, but his face looks peaceful, content, like the only place he wants to be right now is on his knees, sucking Eric’s cock.

It’s good, it’s so good, and Eric is suddenly even closer to the edge than he thought. “I’m close, honey,” he chokes out, but Jack just hums around his cock, moving faster, and within minutes Eric’s hands are clenching in Jack’s hair as he comes. He thrusts deeper than he means to, but Jack just rides it out, sucking and swallowing until Eric has to use his grip on Jack’s hair to pull him off.

Jack looks even more debauched than he did after his own orgasm, mouth red and puffy, hair in disarray and pupils blown wide and dark. Eric suddenly wants nothing more than to kiss him, but they’re--that’s not what they’re doing.

That’s the realization that makes Eric pull his shorts back on with shaking hands. He’s about to leave, to go back to his room, or the kitchen, or anywhere that isn’t this room that smells of Jack and sex.

It’s Jack’s voice that stops him, small and lost-sounding. “Was--did I--was that okay?”

When Eric looks back at him, his fingers are tangling together in his lap, his body shaking a little, and Eric can no more leave him like this than he could make a pie without butter. “Oh, honey,” he says, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around the bigger boy. “That was amazing. You did so well. You always do, you’re always so good for me.”

Jack gradually relaxes in his arms, his head coming to rest on Eric’s shoulder. Eric lifts one hand to stroke through his hair, and Jack sighs, leaning into the touch. “I’m sorry I’m so needy,” he mumbles into Eric’s shoulder. “I--I’m fine, you can go, you probably want to go--”

“Jack Zimmermann,” Eric snaps. “Stop trying to tell me what I want.”

“Okay,” Jack mumbles. He lets Eric coax him up onto the bed and under the blanket with only a token protest about how early it is.

“You’ll need your sleep if you’re gonna get me up at ass o’clock in the morning for checking practice,” Eric chirps, smoothing the blanket down.

Jack smirks up at him, his eyes a little clearer. “5 o’clock, Bittle.”

Eric rolls his eyes. “I know, I know.”

He slips out of Jack’s room, firmly suppressing the wistful desire to stay, to slide under the blanket and cuddle Jack close.

5 a.m. is going to come all too soon, but that’s okay. Eric needs to remember who Jack is; his captain, maybe his friend. Nothing more.

If the last thing Eric remembers before falling asleep is Jack’s eyes looking up at him, well, no one has to know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack wants to help Bittle with his checking problem, but it's not working like it did before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope all of you had or are having a happy holiday season! Have some smut!

As usual, Bittle only communicates in grunts until they get to the rink. Jack has learned to interpret the tone of the grunts by now, though, and he knows that it was a slightly more pleased grunt than usual when he tasted the coffee Jack handed him.

It shouldn’t matter; shouldn’t send heat shooting down Jack’s spine, to know he’s made Bittle happy. The small blond looks so adorably soft, bundled up in the ridiculous number of layers he insists on, even though it’s only just September and barely even cool outside.

Fortunately, Jack knows how to take these feelings and set them aside, to play the game. “Are you ready?” he asks once they’re on the ice.

Bittle takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “Do it.” he says tightly.

Jack starts to skate toward him, but it’s wrong, it’s all wrong, the fear in Bittle’s voice and the way his body shakes. Jack stops a good five feet away.

“No,” he says. “This is--not like this.”

The other man’s forehead furrows adorably when he’s confused. “But it worked last time--”

Jack interrupts him, even though he’s not quite sure what he’s going to say, running on instinct rather than something he’s actually fully realized. “Yeah, but--I think we did it backwards.”

“Backwards?” If Bittle’s eyebrows get any higher they’ll disappear into his uncombed hair.

“Yeah.” Jack’s confidence is growing with every word, a thousand tiny things crystallizing in his brain. “Come at me.”

Bittle blinks at him. “At you? You--you don’t even have pads on.”

Jack shrugs. “You do. I’m not worried.”

“Oh, really,” Bittle drawls, his eyes narrowing. “Well, I’m sure little ol’ me couldn’t actually hurt you, Mister Big Strong Hockey Player.”

“Well, you could if you really tried.” Jack does his best to make his tone as casually dismissive as possible. “Come on, Bittle. I’m a surly asshole, everybody knows that. You can’t tell me it wouldn’t feel good to just shove me into the--”

All the air leaves his lungs as Bittle’s shoulder drives into Jack’s gut, propelling him backwards across the ice. Only the fact that he’s probably spent more of his life on the ice than off allows Jack to keep his balance.

Bittle stops as soon as he started, pulling back, his hands flying to his mouth.”Oh, Jack, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean--are you all right? Lord, I could’ve seriously hurt you, what were you thinking--”

“That was amazing,” Jack says once he gets his breath back. “Bittle, I didn’t even see you move. How do you feel?”

“I--” Bittle stops short, his eyes widening. “I feel fine. I feel fine.”

Jack can’t help but smile. “Good. Again.”

* * *

There are two pieces of good news that come out of this morning’s checking practice. First, they discover that Bittle is perfectly capable of checking someone else, although Jack does have to say terrible things about his baking a couple of times to spur him on. He probably won’t actually manage to do it in a game, but by the end of practice when Jack takes a turn checking him, Bittle shakes it off with barely a tremor and skates through it, shooting ahead with a speed Jack can’t possibly match.

The other good news is that Jack took the time to wear a jockstrap this morning, just in case, because random shots to the junk are never fun. Aside from its protective use, it also serves the very practical purpose of hiding exactly how Bittle checking him into the boards over and over affects Jack.

He’s always known he likes his partner to call the shots; back in Juniors he thought it was because he was so inexperienced (not that Kenny was much more so). But his therapist had helped him understand it a bit more--in one of the most excruciatingly embarrassing sessions he’d ever had--and he’d done some research on his own as well.

But nothing could have properly prepared him for the experience of being alone with Bittle in Faber, on the ice, the place where he feels most confident and secure. Always before, their roles have been clearly defined, the captain and the teammate, and even now, technically Jack was in charge the whole time. But with everything they’ve done, now that he knows what it’s like to leave himself in Bittle’s hands, Jack can’t help but respond. By the time they have to move off the ice, he’s painfully hard, the jock an agonizing tightness on his cock.

Not for the first time, Jack regrets that the locker room only has one communal shower. He lingers while Bittle strips down and heads into the shower, waiting until he’s alone in the locker room to carefully ease the jockstrap off, sucking in a relieved breath at the sudden lack of pressure.

He can’t linger, though, as much as he’d like to. The only thing more embarrassing than walking into the shower with an erection would be Bittle coming out and finding him sitting on the bench, his hand on his cock. Jack has to breathe for a moment through the dizzying swirl of arousal that thought sends rushing through him, the mental images all too vivid after their last two encounters.

His cock is still rock-hard, bobbing ridiculously in mid-air as he steps into the showers, but there is a merciful God, because Bittle’s eyes are closed as he stands under the spray. Jack takes his time, trying to keep his lower body turned away from the other man. He just has to wait until Bittle gets out, leaves him alone. He’s so keyed up, it won’t take long; just get himself off hard and fast and then they can walk to the dining hall, meet the others for team breakfast.

The drumbeat of _soon, soon, soon_ , in his head, keeping time with the pulse of blood through his body, is so distracting that Jack startles when Bittle speaks, his voice low and honey-rich.

“My, my, Mr. Zimmermann. Did you enjoy our practice a little more than usual?”

Jack swallows hard, his eyes fluttering shut. “Yes,” he admits, because there’s no hiding the evidence. He almost thinks he could come without a hand on him, just Bittle’s--Eric’s words in his ear.

He jolts in surprise when Eric’s hand lands on his hip, warm and wet and slick with soap. He opens his eyes to find Bittle closer than he’d realized, barely inches separating their bodies.

“That almost looks painful,” Eric murmurs, his thumb stroking over Jack’s hipbone. “Were you hard the whole time, honey? Just from me pushin’ you around?”

“Yes,” Jack says again, his cheeks burning. Admitting it out loud somehow turns him on even more, arousal twisting in his gut.

Eric hums consideringly, his thumb still sweeping in slow, maddening circles on Jack’s skin, so close and yet so far from where Jack wants him. “Well, then, we should probably do something about this, huh? Do you want me to leave so you can take care of it yourself?”

Jack’s hand wraps around Eric’s upper arm before he even realizes he’s reached out. “No! Please--I--”

“Shhh, honey, it’s okay,” Eric soothes, his other hand coming up to rest comfortingly on Jack’s chest. “I didn’t want to presume. What do you want, sweetheart?”

“I--” Jack falters. He wants, God, he wants so many things, his mind whirling with fragmented images. There’s so much, but under all of it is one common thread, one thing he can cling to. He feels his face flushing hotter as he prepares to admit it, trying to get out the words he’s never been able to make himself say before. “I want you to tell me what to do.”

Eric’s fingers tighten for just a minute, diggiing into Jack’s skin, and he can’t help but hope there will be bruises later, some kind of evidence of this moment. “Okay,” Eric breathes, his hands relaxing, but still firm and possessive on Jack, his eyes dark and intent. “I can do that. You gonna be good for me, honey?”

A shudder runs through Jack’s body at the words, even while he nods.

“Yeah,” Eric murmurs. “You’re always so good for me. Touch yourself, sweetheart, I wanna see you.”

Jack’s hand wraps around his cock without conscious thought. He can’t control the whimper that escapes him as he slowly strokes it up and down, squeezing lightly around the head. Eric doesn’t back off, staying close enough that Jack’s hand bumps into his stomach at the end of each stroke.

“Lord, Jack, honey, you’re so gorgeous like this,” Eric says, his eyes roving over Jack’s body. “If you had any idea how many times I’ve imagined this…”

Another whimper forces its way out at those words. Jack can’t help but imagine Eric, naked on his bed, slim, strong fingers curled around his cock, his lips parted as he moans Jack’s name.

“Please,” Jack moans. He’s not sure what he’s asking for, but that’s all right. Eric will know. “Please--”

“Stop,” Eric says, the command in his voice so absolute that Jack freezes in place. “You did so good, honey, you did just what I asked. But we’re gonna try something else now, okay?”

Jack nods, still awash in the relief of Eric telling him that he’d done the right thing. “Whatever you want, just tell me, please--”

Eric steps in closer, trapping Jack’s cock between their bodies, Eric’s cock hard against his. His forehead furrows adorably, like he’s trying to figure out why a pie tastes differently than he’d planned. “If I wasn’t so damn short,” he mutters before looking up. “Okay, Jack, I need you to pick me up.”

It’s not like Eric weighs nothing; he might be shorter than most of the guys on the team, but when he’s naked like this, it’s obvious that he’s all lean muscle. But Jack is bigger, with more room for more muscle, and he’s been training to get himself to an NHL standard of strength. It’s the work of a moment for him to squat down slightly, letting his hands curve down over Eric’s small, perfectly shaped ass. He can’t help lingering there for a moment before his hands slide lower to grip Eric’s thighs and lift, sucking in a breath as Eric’s legs wrap around his waist, their cocks settling next to each other.

“Fuck,” Eric breathes, his fingers digging into Jack’s arms. “Can you take two steps back for me, honey? Carefully, don’t want you to fall.”

Jack does as he’s told, stepping slowly backward until his back hits the tiled wall. “Like this?”

For a minute it seems like Eric might lean in and kiss him, their faces only inches apart, and Jack can’t quite believe how much he wants that. But the moment passes as quickly as it came. “Just perfect,” Eric says, shifting his weight experimentally. “Hold on tight now, sweetheart.”

And then he starts to move, rolling his hips into Jack, grinding their cocks together. Jack is suddenly right back at that edge, helplessly turned on, desperate to come. Eric has him pinned against the wall, unable to move. His senses are full of Eric; Eric’s hands on his shoulders, Eric’s muscular thighs flexing in his grip, Eric’s cock sliding against his.

“Please--” Jack says again, his breath catching in his throat. He’s so close, and he can’t do anything but beg, and that makes it so much better, somehow. “Please, please--”

“You want to come?” Eric purrs in his ear, nipping at Jack’s earlobe. “Can you ask me nicely, honey? In English?”

Jack shudders all over, trying to remember how to form words in English, since apparently he hadn’t been. “ _S’il_ \--Please, please can I come?”

“Come for me,” Eric breathes, his hips moving faster. “Come on, sweetheart--”

The rest of his words are lost, the blood rushing in Jack’s ears as he comes blocking out other sounds. He blinks his eyes open when he feels Eric lose his rhythm, grinding down on Jack’s softening cock one last time before he comes.

They stay there in silence for several long minutes, Eric’s body warm where he’s slumped against Jack, his face buried in Jack’s neck. Finally, too soon, he lifts his head.

“You should probably put me down, honey,” Eric says, sounding as reluctant as Jack feels. “No telling when somebody will come in here, and we need to get over to breakfast.”

Jack complies, his hands lingering as Eric slides down his body. “We should clean off first,” he offers, his voice rough in his throat.

Eric rewards him with a laugh, echoing off the walls of the steamy shower. “Yeah, that’d be a good idea.”

They return to their respective showerheads, cleaning themselves off in comfortable silence. Despite the endorphins flooding his brain, Jack can’t help feel a little melancholy as the only evidence of what just happened disappears. But he can’t figure out how to bring it up, words tangling his tongue until he feels paralyzed with all the things he could say.

“So,” Eric says, once they’re back in the locker room, carefully not looking at each other as they get dressed. “This...keeps happening.”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, his eyes firmly on his feet as he pulls on his socks. “Is that--is that okay?”

Eric huffs out a rueful laugh. “I think I was pretty clear on the fact that I was enjoying myself. I just--was that okay? What I said, what I did?”

Jack forces himself to meet Eric’s eyes, even though his face feels like it’s on fire. “It was exactly what I wanted. What I needed.”

“Oh, thank God,” Eric breathes.

They finish dressing in silence, gathering their gear. They’re almost out the door when Eric says, so quietly that Jack can barely hear him, “Do you think you’ll want to do it again sometime?”

Jack has to clear his throat twice before he can respond. “I--yeah. I think so.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the corners of Eric’s mouth tip upward. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Jack echoes.

They walk out of Faber together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you were wondering, Bitty also did some research after the events of the last chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty wants to get through Hazeapalooza, but he gets a little more than he'd planned on
> 
> Takes place before, during and after the events of [2.4 Hazeapalooza](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/104298007568)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a little deeper into the dom/sub aspect of Jack and Bitty's relationship. I'm updating the tags to reflect what's going on, but spoilery warning in the endnotes in case.

Eric just barely catches the last of Jack’s words through the not-so-quiet hubbub of the gathered hockey players.

“...glad I didn’t have to do this, eh?” their captain says, elbowing Shitty in the side.

Shitty stares at him for a long, long moment, possibly the longest non-stoned time Shitty has ever been silent in the entire time Bitty’s known him. “You fucker,” he whispers. “You beautiful fucker.”

Jack’s eyes widen and he takes a step back before Shitty grabs his shirt and strips it over his head, yanking Jack’s sweatpants down so fast his boxers almost go with. Bitty is not disappointed that they don’t. Not even a little.

“Bitty!” Shitty bellows, despite the fact that Bitty is standing _right there._ “Get the stick tape! We have another frog to initiate!”

Eric’s heartbeat is suddenly pounding in his ears as he comes to stand in front of Jack. He didn’t miss the way Jack’s shoulders lowered away from his ears, the tension bleeding out of his body when Shitty called Eric over. But he can’t read too much into it, either. This--whatever they’re doing--it’s not what Eric had imagined for himself when he came to Samwell, but he can’t regret it, either. Not when Jack ducks his head and offers Eric his wrists, his pupils just the slightest bit wider than usual.

“Is this okay?” Eric murmurs, wrapping the stick tape as slowly as he can manage, letting his fingers brush the thin skin on the inside of Jack’s wrists just to feel his pulse, faster than usual, but still strong and steady.

“Yeah,” Jack breathes, his voice barely audible. “Would you--can you--stay close?”

Eric cups his hands around Jack’s bound ones for a minute, under the pretense of wrapping the last of the tape. “Of course, honey. You just do what you’re told, and if you’re good, you can have a reward later, okay?”

Jack licks his lips. “Okay.”

Eric steps back reluctantly, making way for Ransom and Holster to nudge Jack onto center ice with the three frogs. He’s a little worried at first, but Shitty steps between them, distracting Jack, and Eric realizes that Jack looks so much younger than he ever has. He’s--he’s joking with Shitty, which is frankly astonishing when Eric contrasts it with the curt, monosyllabic captain he remembers from his own frog year.

When Jack meets his eyes and smiles softly, just for a second, before returning his attention to Shitty, Eric is incredibly grateful he’s wearing jeans and not the thin sweatpants he’d originally planned on. The heavy denim is much better at disguising the fact that he’s half-hard, almost instantly, because Jack Zimmermann is on his knees, his hands bound, for Eric.

Eric hams it up a little during the hazing, doing his best to make sure none of his teammates notice the situation in his pants. When they’re done at Faber, Lardo takes Chowder and tosses Eric an extra black bag to pull over Jack’s head, but he’s honestly not sure if that’s because she knows what’s going on (he wouldn’t rule it out) or because she wants Chowder to give her a piggyback ride back to the Haus.

Either way, he’s grateful, keeping one steadying hand on Jack’s shoulder as he pulls the bag down over his head with the other. “Okay?” he asks quietly, but he doesn’t really need a verbal answer. It’s there in the way the last of the tension flows out of Jack’s muscles, in the way he leans into Eric’s touch.

“Yeah,” Jack says slowly, getting to his feet at Eric’s urging. “I did what I was told, right?”

“That’s right, honey,” Eric says, trying desperately not to focus on the fact that he has one hand on Jack’s bare back, just above his boxers. “You were so good, I’m so proud of you. We’re gonna go back to the Haus now. I think Shitty’ll waive the kegstand in your case, but you should spend a little time at the party.”

Jack nods, following Eric’s guidance without hesitation. That shouldn’t be unfairly hot, but Eric’s given up on shoulds when it comes to this--thing--they’re doing. “Okay. But you’ll stay with me?”

“Yeah,” Eric says. “I’ll stay with you.”

* * *

Eric’s starting to think that he might actually know Jack Zimmermann better than anyone else on the team at this point. No one else seems surprised at the way he jokes, the way he laughs, the relaxation in his muscles. No one else seems to notice the way he stays within arm’s length of Eric at all times. To be fair, it’s subtle; bumping their shoulders together, pulling Eric into a friendly headlock, their fingers brushing as he hands Eric a beer or a bottle of water, sitting at Eric’s feet when they settle in for Mario Kart. No one else notices the way he looks at Eric from under his lashes, the way he softens and brightens when Eric gives him a smile or a nod.

Finally, though, Jack stands, says, “I’m heading up, guys,” to a chorus of half-hearted protests. He gets halfway to the stairs when he turns back. “Bittle, did you still want to borrow that book I told you about?”

It’s been awhile since Eric was in drama club, but he knows a cue when he hears one. “Sure,” he says easily, pushing himself out of the chair and following Jack up the stairs. His position is its own reward, leaving him at eye level with Jack’s ass in his gray sweatpants. It’s so hypnotic he almost bumps into Jack when he stops to open his door.

The door closes behind them, the _snick_ of the lock turning loud in the silence. Jack looks at Eric expectantly, uncertainly, and Eric sets his worries and wondering aside, because right now this isn’t about him. Jack needs this, and Eric’s going to give it to him.

“You were so good, honey,” he says, stepping into Jack’s space, setting his hands on Jack’s shoulders and pressing gently down. Jack folds gracefully to his knees, looking trustingly up, and Eric has to suppress a shiver. “You did just what I told you. Do you want your reward now?”

“Please,” Jack breathes, his pupils wide and dark.

Eric runs his hands down Jack’s arms until they’re wrapped (barely) around his captain’s wrists. “Did you like it, earlier? The tape? Want me to do it again?”

Jack shudders all over. “ _Ouais_ \--yes, please--”

“Okay,” Eric soothes, squeezing lightly just to see the way Jack’s eyes widen, the way his teeth sink into his lower lip. “In your desk drawer?”

“Second drawer,” Jack says, his cheeks flushing. “If--”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, and maybe Eric shouldn’t push, but he wants to. “If what, honey?”

Jack swallows, his eyes downcast. “Lube and--and condoms in the top drawer. If you want.”

Eric takes a deep breath. It doesn’t do much to help, since all the blood left in his brain seems to have drained directly into his cock. “You want me to decide, sweetheart? Want me to tell you what to do?”

He waits for Jack’s nod, ignoring the warmth in his chest when the bigger man doesn’t even hesitate. He squeezes Jack’s wrists one more time before releasing them.

“Okay, honey,” Eric says, doing his best to make his voice firm and confident. “I want you to take your clothes off and then wait for me, just like this.”

Jack peels his shirt off immediately, then kneels up to start tugging his sweatpants and boxers down. Eric tears himself away from all that gorgeous, flexing muscle, and turns toward the desk.

The second drawer has at least five rolls of stick tape. Eric hesitates for a minute before choosing the blue. He hesitates even longer after closing the drawer, but the rustling sounds of clothing behind him have come to a stop, so he pulls out the lube and closes the drawer firmly on the box of condoms.

When he turns back, he loses his breath for a minute. Jack kneels where Eric left him, completely naked, his hands resting on his muscular thighs, his cock hard and leaking. In his position, Eric would have been jittery, unable to settle, but Jack looks calmer than Eric’s ever seen him, his muscles relaxed, his breathing slow and easy.

“Perfect,” Eric breathes, crossing the space between them in two steps. “You’re so good, honey.”

Jack looks up then, his pupils huge and dark, only the thinnest ring of blue around the edges. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, just waits. Eric thinks he’ll never get over the giddy feeling, the surge of power and excitement from the way Jack offers up control to him. He doesn’t really want to, if he’s honest with himself.

“Okay, honey,” he says, reaching for Jack’s hands. “Here we go. You have to tell me if it’s too tight, okay?”

He waits for Jack’s nod before he begins, wrapping the stick tape carefully around and around. Without the audience they had earlier, he can take his time, can let his hands linger. The blue tape is the exact shade of Jack’s eyes, of ribbons on birthday presents, and Eric has to choke down a surge of arousal at the idea of Jack sitting patiently amid a pile of presents, waiting to be unwrapped.

“There.” Eric runs his fingers over the wrappings one more time. “Is that okay, sweetheart?”

Jack nods, his arms flexing hypnotically as he tests the restraint. “ _C’est bien_ \--it’s...it’s good. I...like it.”

Eric strips his tank top off, tossing it to the floor. Jack’s eyes follow the movement, his tongue coming out to wet his lips as his eyes move down Eric’s body. It gives Eric another surge of confidence, enough to slow his motions down to a tease as he reaches for the button on his shorts.

“You did so well tonight, honey,” he says, slowly popping the button open and easing the zipper down. “So there are two parts to your reward. First, you’re gonna blow me.”

He pauses there, because that’s the part he’s not sure about, but Jack licks his lips again and nods, leaning forward like he’s going to reach for Eric before he remembers his hands are bound in front of him.

“If you need to stop, I want you to tap my leg with your hands,” Eric says, letting his shorts and underwear fall to the floor and stepping out of them, closer to Jack. “Show me you can do that, okay?”

Jack’s eyes are fixed on Eric’s cock where it hangs hard and heavy, only inches from his face, but he obediently lifts his bound hands and taps them lightly on Eric’s shin.

“Good,” Eric praises, lifting a hand to comb through Jack’s hair, savoring the shiver that runs through the bigger man’s body. He lifts his cock with the other hand, lining it up with Jack’s lips. “Open for me, honey.”

He presses inside as Jack opens his mouth wider in instant response. It’s different than before; with Jack’s hands bound, he can’t do much more than bob his head. Eric can thrust, can use his grip on Jack’s hair to control his speed, urge him faster or slower.

It makes him nervous at first, but even so, those first thrusts into Jack’s mouth are so good Eric almost can’t take it. It’s all wet, rough heat, and he pushes a little deeper than he’d planned. He pulls back almost instantly, his mouth opening to apologize, but the words catch on his tongue when he looks back and sees Jack’s hips rolling up against the air, desperately searching for friction.

“You like that, honey?” he breathes, pushing in deep again, carefully this time. Jack nods as best he can with his mouth full of Eric’s cock, his cheeks flushed.

Eric does his best to fix this moment in his memory; Jack’s mouth stretched wide and red around his cock, the smell of sex in the air, the wet, obscene sounds as Eric presses inside again and again, the drag of Jack’s tongue and lips over his cock as he withdraws for another thrust.

He’s close to the edge embarrassingly fast, but he’s been half-hard for literally hours, ever since the first time Jack offered his wrists, since he asked Eric to stay close. He can’t seem to keep his mouth from running, so he channels it into the words he knows Jack likes, the ones that will make him shudder.

“That’s so good, honey,” he babbles, wrapping his fingers in Jack’s hair and tugging him just a little further, thrusting just a little deeper. “You’re so good for me, wish I could do this forever. I’m so close, sweetheart, fuck, you’re gonna make me come--”

Jack redoubles his efforts, bobbing his head faster as much as he can with Eric’s grip on his hair, taking Eric’s cock deeper until it hits the back of his throat and then swallowing, the muscles tight around the head.

“Fuck, Jack,” Eric groans, his hands tightening in Jack’s hair. He can’t make them loosen, but Jack doesn’t seem to mind. It’s his answering groan, vibrating around Eric’s cock, that makes him come, his hips thrusting helplessly into Jack’s mouth.

He can’t make himself pull away for several long minutes, his legs gone weak at the knees as Jack sucks gently at the head of his cock, tongue swirling as if to catch every drop. But finally it’s too much, too sensitive, and Eric tugs Jack’s head back with shaking hands.

“Up on the bed now, honey,” he says, doing his best to help Jack get to his feet with his hands bound. “That was so good, you did so well. Now it’s my turn to do something for you.”

“You--” Jack’s voice is rough; he clears his throat and swallows as he settles obediently onto the edge of the bed. “You don’t have to--”

Eric props his hands on his hips. “I want to. You wanted me to tell you what to do. Has that changed?”

Jack shakes his head. “ _Non--_ no, I want--please.”

“All right, then,” Eric says, shoving gently at Jack’s shoulders until he lies back. “You tell me if you need to stop, understand?”

“I’ll try,” Jack says, his voice small. “Sometimes I--words are hard when I’m--like this.”

Eric frowns in thought. “Okay. Then tap my shoulder. Can you do that?”

Jack’s whole body relaxes, melting into the bed. “I can do that.”

“Good.” Eric’s never going to get tired of the way Jack flushes when he hears that word, the way it ripples through his body like a wave. “You’ve been so good tonight, you deserve a reward. Let me take care of you a little, honey.”

He kneels between Jack’s legs, taking a moment to appreciate the way Jack’s naked body fills his vision. But he’s here for a reason, so ERic wraps a hand around the base of Jack’s cock and licks up the shaft, circling the head with his tongue. He teases like that for a minute, little kitten licks and sucks until Jack is shaking and groaning under his hands before finally sucking him down.

It takes a couple of tries to get the lube cap open, and he’s pretty sure he spilled some of the lube on the floor, but Eric finally manages to coat his fingers. He moves in closer, using his shoulders to spread Jack’s thighs wider, and ghosts one fingertip over Jack’s ass, trying to remember what feels good when he does it to himself.

Jack’s entire body shakes, so Eric does it again, pressing just a little bit harder. Jack’s talking now, a breathy babble of Quebecois falling from his mouth, getting louder every time Eric bobs his head, every time his finger pushes a little more.

Eric’s finger slips inside, just to the first knuckle, encased in the tightness and warmth of Jack’s body. Jack’s groan is so loud that it seems like someone must have heard it, even over the party happening downstairs.

“Shhh,” he scolds, pulling off of Jack’s cock but working his finger in deeper. “Somebody’s gonna hear, honey. You’ve gotta be quiet for me.”

Jack’s hips thrust up helplessly into the air with each little push of Eric’s finger inside of him. He stuffs the knuckles of one bound hand into his mouth, muffling the moans and groans, as Eric’s finger slides all the way in.

“That’s so good,” Eric praises, moving his finger in and out slowly before adding more lube and working a second fingertip inside, with less resistance than he’d expected. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Do you do this to yourself sometimes?”

The flush on Jack’s cheeks darkens, moving down his neck, but he nods, his eyes closed.

“Fuck,” Eric groans, because honestly, how is he not supposed to be overwhelmed by the idea of Jack fingering himself open until he comes. Both fingers are moving easily now, in and out with wet, filthy noises, so he curls them, searching, searching…

His fingertips brush over something and Jack’s hips shoot up off the bed again, the muffled sound of his voice loud around the hand in his mouth. “There we go,” Eric says, his voice calmer than he feels, and does it again.

Jack’s whole body is shaking now, a steady stream of fluid leaking from his cock. Eric slicks his free hand through it, wraps it around the base to give Jack something to thrust up into as he works a third finger inside Jack’s ass.

“That’s so good, honey,” he says, just letting the words flow. He’s honestly not quite sure what he’s going to say until it comes out of his mouth, too mesmerized by watching Jack writhe, muscles flexing as he fucks up into Eric’s fist and back onto his fingers. “You’re so good, wish you could see how good you look. Can you come for me like this, sweetheart? Want you to come for me--”

The words are barely out of his mouth when Jack starts coming, thick white fluid spurting up onto his chest and abs and coating Eric’s hand, like he’d only been waiting for Eric’s permission before letting go. And that--Eric’s hard again, which, okay, he’s nineteen, it shouldn’t be that surprising, but still.

He pulls his fingers free and wipes them clean impatiently on a piece of discarded clothing before climbing up to straddle Jack’s thighs. His other hand is still slick, and Eric jerks himself with quick, rough strokes. It doesn’t take long, not with Jack spread out under him like some Greek god, all perfect, ripped muscles. His bound hands rest on his chest, his tongue flicks out over his lips as he watches the movement of Eric’s hand, and in what seems like no time at all, Eric is coming again, adding to the mess pooling on Jack’s stomach.

Eric stays frozen like that for a long moment. He manages to shift to the side before he collapses onto the bed, heart racing like he’d just done an entire practice’s worth of suicides.

Jack shifts next to him and Eric forces his eyes open, reaching out to unwrap the stick tape. He frowns a little at the slight redness of the skin underneath, barely resists pressing his lips to it. Instead, he levers himself out of the bed, Jack’s reaching hand brushing his side before falling away.

“I’ll be right back, honey,” he says soothingly, because Jack looks somehow small and vulnerable, the way he’s curled into himself. Eric read about this; Jack needs taking care of, and it’s Eric’s responsibility to do it right. “Need to get something to clean you up with, okay? Can you stay right there and wait for me?”

His eyes are a little hazy, but Jack nods after a long minute. Eric lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding and crosses the room to the bathroom door, listening for a long moment before darting inside to lock the door in from Shitty’s room and wet a washcloth.

He makes it back into Jack’s room without detection, breathing a sigh of relief as the door closes behind him. Jack is still curled up on the bed, his eyes watching the door, but he relaxes into the mattress as soon as he sees Eric.

“Told you I’d be right back,” Eric says gently, crossing the room. “Let me get you cleaned up, honey.”

Jack uncurls at Eric’s touch, letting Eric clean gently between his legs, wipe up the mess on his stomach and chest. After a minute’s search in Jack’s mini-fridge, Eric locates a bottle of water and coaxes him into taking little sips until it’s half-empty and Jack turns his head away.

“Do you want me to stay?” Eric asks softly after he’s screwed the cap back onto the bottle. “I can go back to my room if you’d rather. I probably should, because I know Shitty sometimes comes in first thing in the morning--”

Strong fingers wrap around his wrist, pulling his hands apart where he was wringing them together. “Stay,” Jack says, his voice rough and quiet. “Please?”

Eric takes a deep breath, nods. “Okay,” he says. “I can do that.”

It’s a little awkward when he climbs under the covers, but Jack uses his grip on Eric’s wrist to basically haul him around until they’re spooned together, with Eric curled around Jack, his arm wrapped around the taller man’s waist. It’s not something he would’ve pictured even a few weeks ago, but it feels strangely right, putting his body between Jack and the rest of the world.

Even if his head only comes up to Jack’s shoulder.

“Good night,” Eric murmurs. His eyes slide closed, lulled by the steady beat of Jack’s heart.

“Good night,” Jack mumbles.

In the morning, as he slips out of bed, gathers his clothes, and sneaks across the hallway to his own room, Eric’s not sure if he dreamed the quiet “Thank you” or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery warning: Bitty is the one to tie Jack's hands for Hazeapalooza; afterward, he ties Jack's hands for their own private enjoyment. Explicit, enthusiastic consent is asked for and given.
> 
> As always, if you like Check Please content, a smattering of good-looking people, and whatever random stuff catches my eye, you're welcome to [follow me on Tumblr](http://dizzy-redhead.tumblr.com).


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his run with George, Jack can't seem to settle. But he eventually figures out what he needs.
> 
> Takes place after the events of [2.5 Providence Falconers](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/106126040102)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, y'all. This chapter was fighting me tooth and nail, but I did finally get it finished. Thanks so much for your patience and your excitement about this fic!!! I love how much you love it.

Jack can’t settle after he and George finish their run and he heads back to the Haus. It’s mostly empty, what with finals coming up. Even Bittle and Lardo are in the library, according to the group chat.

He’d intended to do some studying of his own, but after the fifth time he reaches the end of the page without remembering a single thing it said, he gives up, pushing back from his desk in annoyance. It’s not anxiety, not exactly, just a restless energy vibrating under his skin that he doesn’t quite know what to do with. He needs...something.

Go for a run? No, he and George already did 5 miles today; any more and his legs will be too tired for practice tomorrow, for their next game later this week. The same goes for other exercise; with his contract situation up in the air, he can’t risk something stupid like that.

Jack plops down on the bed, lets his head thunk lightly against the wall. He hasn’t felt like this in years, and when he did before it was always mixed with his anxiety. So easy to take a pill, to take a drink, to find a way to pull Kenny into a deserted room and--

He steers his train of thought sharply in a different direction. This isn’t Juniors, he’s not on the verge of a panic attack. He feels good, actually, loose and warm. He just needs a way to burn off some of this energy without wearing himself out for hockey.

It’s too bad Eric isn’t here. Every time they--well. Jack never feels restless after that. Or even during. When Eric tells him what to do, it’s the calmest he thinks he’s ever been.

Suddenly, Jack knows what he wants. What he needs. The plan comes together in his head, and he pushes off the bed to get started.

* * *

Jack blinks his eyes open as Eric’s doorknob rattles, the key sliding into the lock. He has no idea how long he’s been here, just breathing, but he doesn’t think it’s been long.

Even if it had been hours, it would be worth it for the expression on Eric’s face as he closes the door and turns around. His eyes widen and darken as he takes in the sight of Jack, kneeling naked on the rug next to his bed.

“Jack!” he half-exclaims, half-whispers. “What are you--?”

“Waiting for you,” Jack says slowly. Words are hard when he’s like this, kind of floaty. “I wanted--if you--”

Eric shakes his head, locking the door behind him. “This boy,” he mutters under his breath, crossing the room with quick steps. He plugs his phone into the little speaker on his desk and music fills the room, something that Jack vaguely recognizes from that first day when he’d stormed in on Eric in the shower.

“What do you want, honey?” Eric asks, crossing to stand in front of Jack. His voice has that tone it only takes on when they’re doing this, strong and sure, wrapping around Jack like a comforting blanket. “Can you tell me?”

Jack does his best to focus, to remember. There was something specific that he’d wanted. His eyes fall on the bed, on what he left there, and he remembers.

“Would you--fuck me?” he asks, looking up at Eric from under his lashes. “Please? I--I want you to.”

“Oh, lord,” Eric breathes. His eyes are almost all pupil now, just the thinnest ring of warm brown left around the edge as they move back and forth between Jack and the lube and condom lying innocently in the middle of his blanket. “I--of course, sweetheart. If you’re sure.”

Jack just nods. He’s so sure.

Eric nods back solemnly, lifting his hand to Jack’s cheek. Jack can’t help leaning into it, savoring Eric’s touch on his skin.

They stay like that for a minute, but then Eric shakes his head, his mouth quirking into a smile. “Okay, honey. I’m gonna get some stuff ready. You stay right there for me, okay? Don’t move until I tell you to.”

The command is the last thing Jack needs to let go. Eric’s here; Eric will tell him what to do. Jack can just _be,_ let go of everything else and just do as he’s told.

He’s vaguely aware of Eric moving around the room, but even that is comforting. Eric’s movements are just as assured as when he’s in the kitchen, just as confident as every other time they’ve done this, and so familiar.

Eric’s hand on his shoulder doesn’t startle him; of course Eric will be touching him. “Come on, honey,” Eric says, urging him to his feet. “Come on over to the bed for me.”

Jack unfolds himself and lets Eric move him over to the bed, guide him down until he’s bent over the towel-covered pillows stacked on the mattress. “Good,” Eric says, and it makes Jack shiver all over, like a warm hand sliding down his spine. “Now, sweetheart, you have to promise to tell me if you need to stop.”

“I--I’ll try,” Jack says slowly. He’s not sure he’ll be able to get words out, even just one word, just “stop,” but he wants to be good for Eric, wants to hear Eric tell him so in that warm, rich, voice.

“If you can’t talk, I want you to tap the bed two times for me,” Eric says, like he can see Jack’s thoughts on his face..

The surge of relief is so strong that Jack practically melts into the bed, the last little piece of worry floating away.

Eric chuckles, his warm hands sliding over Jack’s ass. It feels so good, the simple touch of skin on sensitive skin, then Eric’s strong hands spread him wide, nudging his thighs further apart, and it’s even better. A slick fingertip teases over his hole, rubbing firm, gentle circles; Jack breathes deep, doing his best to relax.

“That’s it, honey,” Eric praises, pressing just the tip of his finger inside. “You’re so good for me. Just relax and let me make you feel good, okay?”

Jack presses his forehead into the bed, taking long, deep breaths as Eric works his finger inside. It’s so much, already, so long since he’s had anything other than the shallow thrusts of his own fingers inside of him. Eric’s fingers are slimmer than Jack’s, but when he pulls back and adds the tip of a second finger the stretch is amazing.

It seems to take forever and no time at all until Eric can push both fingers deep inside Jack, twisting and turning, curling his fingertips--ohh. Jack’s hips grind down into the pillows as Eric finds his prostate, brushing teasingly across it. The rough-softness of the towel against his cock is almost too good.

“There we go,” Eric says, his voice low and rough as he twists his fingers away, thrusting deep over and over. “You look so good like this, honey. Wish I had a picture of you, just like this, stretched out for me.”

The thought sends shudders racing through Jack’s body. He wants that too; he wants to give Eric everything. He whines when Eric’s fingers withdraw, leaving him empty.

“Shhh, honey,” Eric chides, one hand massaging over Jack’s ass cheek. “You gotta be quiet for me, okay? Can you do that? Can you be good and quiet for me?”

Jack nods frantically, pressing his mouth to the bed to muffle any noises that want to fall free, just in time for Eric to start working a third finger inside, slow and slick. It’s a stretch, but Jack can take it. He wants to take it, wants to be good for Eric.

Behind him, Eric lets out a long, shuddering breath as his finger slides fully inside. “Fuck, Jack,” he breathes, his voice gone ragged, thrusts his fingers in and out, squeezes Jack’s ass in his palms. “You’re so good for me, honey. Can you turn over? I wanna see your face, sweetheart.”

It takes a couple of tries, but Jack manages to turn over onto his back, his hips resting on the pillows, feet flat on the bed, legs spread wide. He feels more exposed this way, somehow, that having his ass in the air for Eric, but he can see Eric now and that’s nice. Seeing the way he licks his lips as he lets his eyes slide down Jack’s body, the way his breath speeds up when he pushes his fingers back inside Jack’s ass.

“So good,” Eric repeats. “Doing just what I say. I think you’re about ready. Do you still want me to fuck you, honey? I can just make you come like this if you want.”

Jack has to swallow a couple of times before he can get the words out, has to think twice, three times, to be sure they’ll be in English, to be sure Eric will understand. “Please,” Jack rasps. “Fuck me. Please, I want--I want--”

“It’s okay,” Eric soothes, his free hand rubbing up and down Jack’s thigh. “I will, honey, it’s okay. I’m gonna give you what you want.”

He whines, low in his throat, when Eric pulls his fingers out again, wiping them on the towel. But then Eric picks up the condom, rips it open and rolls it slowly onto his cock before moving between Jack’s legs, lining himself up.

“What do you do if you need me to stop?” Eric asks.

It takes a minute to remember, the blunt pressure of Eric’s cock a delicious distraction, but Jack taps the bed twice.

“Good boy,” Eric croons, pressing forward.

It’s so much, Eric’s words, the head of his cock stretching Jack wide. Jack does his best to breathe, bearing down. He still sucks in a relieved breath when the head pops inside, at the same time that Eric breathes a reverent curse, his eyes sliding shut.

“Oh, Jack,” he says, shuddering as he pushes slowly inside, so slowly he’s barely moving. “Oh, honey, you feel so fucking good.”

Jack can’t stop shaking, the slow drag of Eric’s cock inside him lighting up his nerve endings. It’s agony, this slow, deliberate invasion. It’s the best thing he’s ever felt. He never wants it to end.

Eric braces his hands on the back of Jack’s thighs, pushing them back toward his chest, spreading him wide. For a second, Jack feels even more exposed, more vulnerable, but Eric pushes in even deeper, watching him with dark, intent eyes.

“Can you stay like this for me, honey?” Eric asks. “Just for a little while?”

It’s close to the limits of Jack’s flexibility, but not quite there, so he nods, reaching up to grab the soles of his feet, holding himself open for Eric.

Eric runs a hand down Jack’s chest. “Good boy,” he says again, smiling a little when Jack shudders under his touch, his words. “So good for me. Want me to fuck you now, honey? Make you feel good?”

“Please,” Jack says, a little breathless from being basically folded in half. “Please, Eric--”

He loses what little breath he had in his lungs when Eric pulls out, until just the head of his cock is inside Jack’s ass, then pushes back inside in one long, smooth stroke. He brings his hand back down to Jack’s thigh, bracing himself so he can really move, fucking Jack hard and deep.

The weight of Eric’s hands spreading him open, pressing him into the bed, might actually be the best thing Jack had ever felt. His eyes slide closed, the better to savor the sensations, but Eriic tsks above him.

“None of that,” Eric says, his breath coming faster as he thrusts into Jack over and over. “Look at me, honey. I want to see you.”

Jack forces his eyes open again.

Eric rewards him with a slow smile, leaning down over Jack a bit more. “There’s my good boy. So good for me, doing what you’re told.”

Shivers wrack Jack’s body, his cock twitches against his stomach, leaking shiny fluid across his abs. It’s so much, it’s too much. He wants to come, he needs to come.

His breath sobs out in relief when Eric reaches down, wraps those strong, slender fingers around his cock. Every stroke of Eric’s cock pushes Jack’s cock into the circle of his hand, over and over.

“Come for me, honey,” Eric says--

\--and that’s it, Jack shaking and shuddering through his orgasm like Eric reached down inside him and pulled it out. Eric fucks him through it, his careful, steady rhythm becoming erratic, before finally thrusting deep one last time and going still.

* * *

“Honey?” Eric says.

Jack blinks his eyes open. He’s still in Eric’s bed, the red-gold sunset light glowing through the windows, but he’s flat on his back, clean and tucked under a blanket, with Eric curled protectively around him.

“How do you feel?” Eric asks, twisting around to grab a bottle of water.

“Good,” Jack says, taking a sip from the bottle when Eric holds it to his lips. “Thank you.”

Eric rolls his eyes. “I feel like I should be the one thanking you, here.”

“No.” Jack shakes his head. “That was--what I needed. Exactly. Thank you.”

He tries not to think too hard about the fact that Eric’s smile makes him feel warm all over,the same way he does when Eric calls him “honey” or “sweetheart.”

The same way he feels when Eric tells him he’s good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update coming...at some point? Idk you guys, my life is all over the place right now. It will come, though. Finishing this fic is one of my writing goals for this year, so it's going to happen.
> 
> As always, feel free to come cry with me about dumb hockey boys [on Tumblr](http://dizzy-redhead.tumblr.com).


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty has an idea...and gets more than he bargained for.
> 
> Takes place around the events of [2.6 WGSS120 / HIST376: Women, Food, & American Culture](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/107448480725). Some words from the comic have been used asa framing device; those belong to Ngozi and are not mine!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live!!!! Well, you knew that, if you follow me on Tumblr or if you've read the other things I've posted. Sorry for the long hiatus, but life has been crazy, and my anxiety has really been working overtime. I really appreciate all the kind words about this fic in the meantime. 
> 
> Writing this chapter helped pull me out of an almost month-long writing slump, so I hope you enjoy!

Eric knows as soon as he turns on the camera that he’s going to have to edit the hell out of this footage, possibly discard it altogether, but he needs to talk. He needs to say the words, even if no one else ever hears them, even if he deletes the footage instantly. 

It’s too much, these huge feelings pushing at his skin, bursting to get out. If he doesn’t find a safe outlet for them, Lord knows they’ll find their own way. At least here he can control how it happens.

“So hey, y’all! Back at it again with a new vlog…” 

* * *

It feels weird, after everything they’ve done together, to knock on Jack’s door, but it also feels weird not to knock. So Eric chooses to err, as always, on the side of politeness, waiting for Jack to call “Come in,” before opening the door and slipping inside.

“What time is it?” Jack asks, checking the clock on his desk even as he pushes his chair back. “Am I late? We weren’t going to work on the pie until 6, right?”

“Right,” Eric says quickly. “You’re not late. I just--I wanted--everyone’s out until 5--”

Jack’s eyes widen, his whole body softening as he picks up on what Eric is saying. Or trying to say. “Yeah,” he breathes.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want--” Eric starts, feeling a splash of guilt flavor his nerves. Here he is inconveniencing Jack, when he probably has studying to do, or offers from teams to look at, or--

“I want,” Jack says firmly, meeting Eric’s eyes. “Tell me what  _ you  _ want?”

Eric’s whole face goes hot. “Well. I, um, I really liked what we did last time. You were amazing, sweetheart. But today I wanted--I want to--oh, fuck.” He buries his face in his hands. He can’t even say the words out loud. He has no business doing anything that he can’t talk about, especially with the way Jack puts himself in Eric’s hands. Trusts him, and here he can’t even talk about sex without stuttering to a halt.

“Hey,” Jack gently coaxes Eric’s hands down, wrapping them in his, interrupting the spiral of self-recrimination. “Tell me. Please?” His cheeks go faintly pink along those slashing cheekbones, his eyes cast down. “I like hearing you say it.”

Deep breath. “I wanted to tie you up and ride you. If that’s okay,” Eric hastens to add, his eyes darting up to Jack’s face. He means it to be for just a second, a quick glance and away, but he gets caught on the way Jack’s tongue flashes out, wetting his parted lips, like just the idea of Eric using him in that way turns him on.

“Yes. Please,” Jack says, his voice low and breathy. 

“It’s just--I wanted--but--”

Jack squeezes Eric’s hands a little, cutting off his broken babble. “I want to. Tell me what you want me to do.”

Eric exhales. “Okay. I’m going to undress you, then I want you to lie down on the bed.”

“Okay.” Jack releases his grip, letting his hands fall to his sides, waiting. 

Eric gets his own hands under Jack’s black t-shirt and pushes it upward, running his palms over all that ridiculous hockey muscle. He has to wait a second for Jack to lift his arms, but then the shirt is off, tossed aside on the floor.

He slides his hands slowly back down, indulging himself. He wants. Wants to feel Jack’s skin warm under his hands, the way Jack breathes, slow and steady, the way his abs contract when Eric slowly undoes the button on his jeans and pulls the zipper down. 

Eric pushes the jeans off Jack’s hips, letting them fall unheeded to pool around his feet, before turning his attention to Jack’s boxers. His cock is already tenting the fabric, a tiny wet spot forming where the head presses up against it. For a second, Eric is tempted to drop to his knees, to lick and suck until the fabric is clinging and transparent, until Jack is shaking under his hands. 

But that’s not what he’s here for today, so he eases the underwear over Jack’s hips as well, getting a good handful of hockey ass in the process. “Alright, sweetheart,” he says, urging Jack back a step. “Go lie down on the bed for me, okay?”

Jack just nods, taking the few steps backward until he can push the covers down and stretch himself across the bed. Eric just has to watch him for a moment. It doesn’t seem real that this could be his life. That Jack could be here, naked on his bed, waiting with trusting eyes for Eric to--to tie him up and fuck him.

It’s so close to everything he wants, but Eric pushes that thought away. This is so much, already, this trust, this safe space to explore what Jack likes. What Eric likes. Asking for more would be greedy. Ungrateful. 

He starts unbuttoning his own shirt, feeling a surge of power at the way Jack’s eyes follow the motion of his fingers, hot and intent. When they’re not doing...this...Eric has plenty of doubts. He’s short, and small, especially amid the freaking giants who make up the Samwell Men’s Hockey team; he’s muscular, but not in the way Jack or Ransom or Holster is, the way that turns heads and attracts attention from across the room. He’s--Lord help him--cute.

But here? In this quiet, intimate space where it’s just him and Jack? Eric feels sexy. Desired and desirable. He shrugs out of his shirt and lets it fall to the floor, running his hands down his stomach to unbutton his jeans. It feels good, but not as good as Jack’s eyes on him, wide and dark, Jack’s fingers digging into his blanket like he wants to touch.

It gives Eric an idea. “So we can do this two ways,” he says, pulling his zipper down and pushing his jeans and briefs off in one motion. “Option A is just what I said. I tie you up, get myself nice and open, and I ride you. Option B, I let you help open me up up, and  _ then _ I tie you up and ride you.”

Jack’s eyes are huge. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times like he’s trying to find words, but Eric has become fluent in Jack’s nonverbal signals. He saw the way Jack’s cock twitched at the second option, the way his hands reached toward Eric, just for an instant. So he retrieves the lube and stick tape from Jack’s desk and prowls slowly across the room, trying to make it as sexy as possible.

“Would you like that, honey?” he croons, crawling onto the bed and straddling Jack’s legs. “Want to help get me ready to ride your cock?”

A frantic nod. “ _ Ouias.  _ Yes,” Jack blurts, his knuckles white where his hands are still digging into the bed. “Please, Eric--”

“Shh, honey,” Eric says, giving in and pressing a finger to Jack’s lips. “Of course you can. Give me your hand, okay?”

Jack lifts his left hand immediately, placing it in Eric’s at the same moment he flicks his tongue between his parted lips to lick at Eric’s finger. It’s incredibly distracting, the rough wetness of Jack’s tongue against his skin, the flutter of Jack’s lashes as he peers up at Eric.

But Eric is a man on a mission, so he--reluctantly--pulls his hand back, opening the lube and liberally covering Jack’s first two fingers. He gets a good grip on Jack’s wrist and pulls his hand around his hip, back until he can feel Jack’s lube-slick fingers at the top of his ass. 

“Go on,” he urges, because there’s honestly only so much directing he can do here. “Nice and slow, okay?”

Jack takes him at his word, rubbing teasing circles over the sensitive skin of Eric’s ass until he’s about to shake right out of his skin, whether from nerves or from how good it feels, he’s not sure. He wishes momentarily that he had the courage to let Jack do this without direction, to give himself up to the feelings, the sensations. To feel safe. To trust.

But there’s no use wishing for things that will never happen; Lord knows Eric’s had enough time in his life to figure that out. So he takes a deep breath and commands, “Do it, Jack,” sucking in another breath when Jack’s fingertip presses slowly inside his ass. 

It’s different than when he does this to himself. Jack’s fingers are thicker than his, so it’s more of a stretch, but Eric is still a little loose from the last time he fingered himself. Jack’s finger slips inside to the first knuckle and Eric can’t help the little groan.

“That’s so good, honey,” he breathes, his fingers tight on Jack’s wrist, urging him a little deeper. “That’s it, sweetheart. Gotta get me nice and open, make room for that big cock of yours. Make me feel good.”

Jack’s chest heaves under him, his lips parted, his eyes wide. He’s looking up at Eric like--like he’s everything Jack has ever wanted. It’s heady, so tempting to let himself believe it, but Eric knows it isn’t true. Jack wants hockey, he wants the NHL, he wants the Stanley Cup. He might want Eric right now, but he’ll forget about him soon enough.

Eric closes his eyes, the better to feel Jack’s finger pressing inside instead of focusing on those pesky thoughts. “So good,” he repeats, taking long, deep breaths. When Jack’s finger is as deep as it can go, he lifts up a little, then pushes back.

_ “T’es si magnifique _ .” Jack’s voice is a low rumble in his chest, vibrating through Eric’s legs on either side. 

He doesn’t usually revert to French this soon, so Eric forces his eyes back open. Jack is watching him intently, his eyes dark and intent, teeth denting his lower lip.

“Okay?” Eric asks. “If we need to stop--”

Jack shakes his head rapidly. “ _ Non _ \--No, no, I’m good, I can--”

“Good.” Eric strokes his hands soothingly over Jack’s chest, fucks himself back onto that long finger a few more times, savoring the feeling. “Time for another finger, honey.”

The second finger is a bit more intense; Eric has to breathe through the stretch, take it slower, but eventually he convinces his body to accept it, working both of Jack’s fingers as deep as they’ll go. It feels amazing, especially when Jack curls them just in time for the tips to drag across Eric’s prostate, sending a jolt of sensation down his spine. 

When Eric can see again, Jack looks remarkably pleased with himself. “You did that on purpose,” Eric says, trying to sound stern.

Jack just shrugs, but his eyes are sparkling and the corner of his mouth is tipped up in that infuriating, sexy smirk.

“Well, then, I think it’s about time to move along with the plan,” Eric says, as briskly as he can with two fingers in his ass. “Hands above your head, honey.”

For once, Jack dawdles when responding to one of Eric’s commands, pulling his fingers oh-so-slowly out, but all too soon they’re gone, leaving a strange emptiness behind. Eric can’t regret it, though. Not when Jack is lying there, wrists crossed on the pillow above his head like something out of Eric’s dirtiest fantasies.

The time it takes to wrap the stick tape carefully around Jack’s wrists is a blessing in disguise; otherwise, Eric isn’t altogether sure he could have managed not to come the instant he got Jack inside him. He focuses on his breathing, on making the tape lie flat so it doesn’t chafe Jack’s skin. Arousal is still a drumbeat through his body, his pulse pounding in his head, throbbing in his cock. But Jack is looking up at him with dark, trusting eyes, and Eric would sooner let the entire Yale team check him, one after the other, than fail in that trust.

“Is that too tight?” he asks when he’s checked and rechecked his handiwork.

Jack shakes his head languidly, already clearly in that space where he has to think to dredge up words. “ _ Bien.” _

Eric blows out a breath. Even he knows that word, which means he has no reason to stall any longer. He curses under his breath when he realizes what he forgot, smiling reassuringly at Jack when the other boy blinks slowly up at him.

“I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” he promises, sliding off the bed. “Just forgot one little thing. You stay right there for me, okay? You look so good, all tied up and ready for me--”

He keeps up the stream of soothing prattle through fishing the almost-forgotten condom out of his pocket and climbing back on the bed. He’d half-expected his hands to be shaking at this point, but they are absolutely steady as he rips the packet open, pinches the tip and rolls the condom carefully down Jack’s hard, leaking cock. He slicks  it liberally with lube until Jack is shuddering under him with every stroke of his hand over the shaft.

“Here we go,” Eric mutters under his breath, shuffling up the bed until he’s positioned over Jack’s hips. Reaching behind him is a little awkward, but then the blunt head of Jack’s cock is pressed against his ass, hot even through the latex barrier, and this is it. This is actually happening. 

Eric does his best to breathe deep, to relax and bear down despite the stretch. Jack is a little thicker than the dildo he’d secretly ordered--God bless Amazon Prime and discreet packaging--but with the help of gravity, the head pops inside, the discomfort slightly less. Eric groans a little at the exact same time Jack does, low in his throat. 

“Oh, fuck.” Eric’s thighs shake with the effort of holding himself up; it’s so tempting to let himself sink, let gravity do the work, but he knows he needs time to adjust. 

Under him, Jack looks absolutely wrecked, his cheeks flushed red, his equally red lips parted, his hands flexing against the pillow. “You look so good, honey,” Eric says, unable to keep from saying what he’s thinking. But that’s okay; as usual, far from seeming to mind, Jack’s breath comes faster at the words. “Feel so good, too.”

It’s true, now that Eric’s had a little time to get used to the stretch. His body knows what’s coming, and is greedily urging him on, so he lowers himself down slowly, achingly slowly, until he can’t go any further, until they’re both shaking with it. 

Eric isn’t ready to move, but he has to forcibly stop himself from leaning down and kissing Jack, from tasting that red-bitten mouth, swallowing down the little moans and whimpers that keep falling free. He’s on the verge of whimpering himself, feeling Jack’s cock hot and hard inside him. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asks, his eyes on Jack’s face.

_ “Ouias,”  _ Jack gasps, his eyes still closed. Eric can feel Jack’s hips shifting restlessly under him, little almost-thrusts like he can’t resist trying to get deeper inside Eric’s body. “ _ S’il te plait--” _

“Shhh, honey,” Eric soothes, stroking his hands over Jack’s chest. “I’ve got you, don’t worry.”

He leaves his hands there when he starts to move, unwilling to give up the feeling of Jack’s heart pounding under his palm, of the sweat slicking his skin, the slight roughness of his chest hairs. As incredible as those feelings are, though, they dim in comparison when Eric lifts up slightly and then back down, a hot, slick slide that sends electricity radiating through his body.

“Oh, fuck.” Eric can’t help but gasp the words with the last of the breath left in his lungs, can’t stop himself from repeating the motion. “Fuck, Jack, honey, you feel so good…”

He lets himself babble, not really able to focus on anything other that the sensation of fucking himself on Jack’s cock, the heady feeling of Jack giving himself over, letting Eric use him until they’re both wrecked. 

Eric feels like he’s been on the edge of coming forever, his cock so hard it aches, dripping precum across Jack’s rippling abs. “I’m close, honey,” he breathes, rocking back harder on Jack’s cock. “Are you--”

“ _ S’il te plait,”  _ Jack begs, his voice a bare rasp. “ _ Calisse, Eric--” _

“Yeah,” Eric interrupts, the sound of his name in Jack’s voice almost enough to push him over the edge. “Yeah, sweetheart, want you to come in me. Can you tell me what you need?”

“ _ Je--”  _ Jack’s eyes are a little wild, clearly fighting to find the words. “I--I want--my hands--”

Eric’s eyes flash to Jack’s hands, still bound together and resting on the pillow above his head. For a lust-addled moment he thinks that Jack wants them free, but then he focuses, sees the way Jack is holding them down into the pillow, hard enough to sink partially into the soft surface.

Jack’s breath practically sobs out of him when Eric leans down, wrapping his fingers around Jack’s wrists and pressing down with as much of his weight as he can. “ _ Tabernak,” _ he hisses, his body quivering under Eric. 

It’s a good thing Eric has a hand free for his own cock, because he was wrong, earlier.  _ This _ is like something out of his dirtiest fantasies, Jack begging softly under him as Eric rides him, practically slamming himself down on Jack’s cock with every stroke. Their faces are inches apart, their breath mingling as Eric chases his orgasm.

“Fuck,” he gasps, his chest heaving. He’s so close, so close he can practically taste it, his brain a whirl of want. He wants to come, to spill warm and sticky over Jack’s abs, he wants to watch Jack fall apart as he comes, he wants, he wants, he  _ wants. _ “Fuck, Jack, you’re so good, gonna come all over you, get you all filthy--”

His orgasm almost catches him by surprise, rolling through his body with a force that keeps him moving, fucking himself back onto Jack’s cock again and again until he can’t take any more, his whole body so sensitive he feels like one exposed nerve.

As soon as he’s able to think of it, he forces himself to loosen his death grip on Jack’s wrists. Jack makes a quiet, protesting murmur, so Eric doesn’t let go entirely, but he’s seen Jack’s post-orgasm face enough over the last few months to know what he’s seeing now. He still asks, though, because manners are important. “Honey? Did you--”

Jack blinks his eyes open slowly, like always, but he manages a nod. It’s harder not to kiss him in this moment than it ever has been, but Eric pushes that desire down ruthlessly, lifting himself up on quivering legs instead.

The protesting noise is louder this time, as Jack’s softening cock slips out of Eric’s ass. Eric can’t help but soothe, squeezing Jack’s wrists instinctively. “Shh, honey,” he murmurs. “Not goin’ far, but we need to get you cleaned up and me out of here before everybody gets back.”

The frown furrowing Jack’s forehead is adorable, practically begging Eric to press his lips to it, despite his certainty that it’s a bad idea. He gives one last squeeze to Jack’s wrists before forcing himself to move away. “I’ll be right back,” he promises himself as much as Jack. “Don’t worry, honey.”

He shouldn’t be as pleased as he is to see Jack watching for him when he comes back from the bathroom, to feel the way Jack leans into his touch as he cleans him, the way Jack relaxes into his arms for their usual cuddle. This is a casual thing, and Eric can’t afford to get attached.

He tells himself this, very firmly, as he forces himself out of Jack’s bed, as he dresses and slips across the hallway to his room, as he showers away any scent of sex and Jack. As he puts away any part of him that isn’t Bitty, friend and teammate and baker of pies, that might be selfish enough to want something more.

* * *

They’re in the kitchen and everything is normal; the only time Eric slips is almost saying something about Jack’s big ass, but honestly. It’s not like it’s the first time someone on the team has referenced it. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

Jack is talking about the Falconers, and hope is blooming in Eric’s chest, a sweet, desperate ache, a voice whispering that this might not be the end.. All he can think is  _ No, _ a desperate litany of denial that doesn’t change the facts even one bit.

Eric is a good liar; he’s had to be. But he’s not good enough to lie to himself. Not about this.

* * *

“...Now for awhile, some of you have been asking about my love life… and for advice… why you would is beyond me. I don’t have much advice because. Well. I’ve never had much of a love life… but I will say this. If you’re in a position like mine, where… you know… and it is something I should’ve learned a long time ago.

“Never fall for your fuckbuddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As before, there's no set update schedule for this fic. I do plan to finish it this year, but beyond that, who knows?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What [happens](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/108665416404) during [Epikegster](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/109910185852)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, lovelies, the muse was cooperating, so you get another chapter very quickly! Woohoo! 
> 
> But! This is the Epikegster chapter, so, some warnings.
> 
> Firstly, there is no smut in this chapter. I realize this is a departure, but given the way the emotions in this chapter played out, I couldn't feel it would be healthy or okay in any way for Bitty and Jack to have sexual contact.
> 
> Secondly, warning for a character having a panic attack. I do my best to represent it it based on my own experience with anxiety and what I've heard from friends with anxiety, but it may not line up exactly with your experience. If you would prefer to skip that part, probably the best place to stop is after the line:
> 
> "He steps backward, his eyes a cold, cruel gray. Jack has only the barest second to brace himself."
> 
> Lastly, this shouldn't be surprising if you've read the comic, but just in case, warning for Parse being verbally abusive
> 
> Please, please, always consider your own triggers and mental health while reading.

Jack can’t explain what led him downstairs, forsaking his usual refuge for the dimly-lit, beer-scented clamor of what Shitty likes to call Epikegster. Or, well, he can, if he digs into the feelings he’s been trying not to examine too closely. But a kegster isn’t the place for introspection, not when the bass reverberates through the closely-packed bodies filling the Haus until he swears his heart is trying to beat in time.

Not when there are better things--people--to focus on. Not when Eric is leaning against the wall next to him, bright-eyed and gently chirping, close enough that Jack can feel his body heat, smell the scent of sugar/cinnamon/vanilla always clinging to him. It’s not the beer in his red cup sending this warmth spreading through Jack’s body, has him retelling the story of the last ill-fated Epikegster. 

He can feel the relaxation, the way his movements are looser, less controlled than anywhere else, but he can’t help it. It’s practically Pavlovian at this point; Eric is here, Eric has him. Jack can relax and just  _ be _ , and that’s headier than any alcohol buzz he’s ever experienced.

He doesn’t even feel silly suggesting they should take a selfie, even while he’s stumbling over the words a little bit. This is Eric; Eric has never mocked him when he struggled to find words. And this is something important to Eric. Something Jack can give back to him. 

“I wouldn’t believe it if I weren’t seeing it myself,” says the familiar drawl from behind him. “Jack Zimmermann. At a party. Taking a  _ selfie. _ ”

Every bit of warmth and relaxation drains out of Jack’s body instantly, leaving him cold, muscles knotted tight. He’d like to believe it’s a hallucination, a ghost created by his fucked-up brain, but he knows even before he turns that it isn’t true.

He should have known better, is all he can think as he stares, taking in Kenny’s familiar smirk, Kenny’s familiar everything. This semester has been a oddly protected safe space, a bubble of calm despite all the things which should have sent him spiraling, but it looks like the bubble has just popped.

“Hey, Zimms,” Kenny says, like he has no idea he’s standing amid the shards of Jack’s happiness. “Didja miss me?”

* * *

Jack has no clue how he made it up to his room. He remembers standing numbly, fingers digging into the paneling, as Kenny took selfie after selfie. When Lardo challenged Kenny to flip-cup, Jack had tried to make his escape, but how he got from there to his room, with Kenny leaning against the door, is completely missing. The blank spot in his memory should probably worry him more, but he’s got more important priorities at the moment. 

“You’re almost done here, huh?” Kenny says, his eyes darting around the room. His tone is faux-casual, and anyone who didn’t know him would think he was actually relaxed. But Jack knows his body, spent years learning to read every cue, on the ice and then off it. Kenny is wound tight, like a wire about to snap. “You’ve been playing it awfully close to the chest about where you’re going to land after this. Gimme a hint.”

Jack just shrugs. He doesn’t for a moment believe this is some kind of fact-finding mission, not after the last time they met, the things that were said, but that doesn’t mean he knows what Kenny is after. Best to stay silent; not give him any ammunition.

“C’mon,” Kenny wheedles. “It’s me, Jack. Don’t tell me you have no clue?”

A deep breath. “I mean...it could be Montreal, it could be L.A., okay? I don’t  _ know.” _

Kenny’s eyes, looking up from under his lashes. “What about Las Vegas?”

“I…” Jack has to swallow, hard. “I don’t know, okay?”

Four years ago, the look on Kenny’s face would have had him running hot, primed and ready to come apart at the barest touch. But in the here and now, Jack is so preoccupied with trying to hold himself together he doesn’t realize what’s happening until Kenny is already in his space, crowding close. 

“Pars--” is all he gets out before Kenny’s mouth is on his, a familiar demand. Jack freezes for a minute, unable to react. When his brain finally catches up, he gets his hands between them and shoves. Not hard, he doesn’t have the strength for hard. But enough to break the contact.

“Kenny, I can’t do this,” he blurts.

“Jack, come on,” Kenny coaxes, reaching out, trying to catch Jack’s arm.

Jack dodges sideways, sliding along the wall. “Kenny--”

“--Zimms, just fucking stop thinking for once and listen to me.” Kenny stops chasing him, but there’s no escaping his words, like poisoned needles seeping venom under Jack’s skin. “I’ll tell the GMs you’re on board and they can free up cap space. Then you can be  _ done _ with this shitty team. You and me--”

“Get out.” Jack doesn’t recognize his own voice, the cold certainty he’s never had. All he knows is that no one, not even Kenny, gets to call his team  _ shitty. _

Kenny gapes at him. Apparently he doesn’t recognize the tone either. “--Jack.”

And now he’s not cold anymore. Jack knows cold rage, but this is hot, bubbling up inside him like a volcano. “You can’t--you don’t come to my fucking school unannounced--”

“--because you shut me out--”

“--and  _ corner me in my room _ \--” the volume of Jack’s voice is rising, but he can’t care

“--I’m trying to  _ help--” _

“-- _ and expect me to do whatever you want--” _

_ “Fuck--Jack!!!”  _ Kenny throws his snapback on the floor, rakes his hands through his hair. “What do you want me to say? That I miss you? I miss you, okay?” His voice softens and he reaches out, stepping into Jack’s space, tucking his face against Jack’s chest like he wants to be held. “I miss you.”

“You always say that.” Jack says. His voice is quieter, now, too, but he feels almost detached. Like he’s standing on the outside looking in at them. Two boys whose broken edges used to fit together into something bigger. It’s been a long time since they could do anything but make each other bleed.

Kent’s body stiffens by slow degrees the longer Jack goes without touching him. He clears his throat as he pulls back. “Huh. Well. Shit. Okay.”

He steps backward, his eyes a cold, cruel gray. Jack has only the barest second to brace himself.

“You know what, Zimmermann? You think you’re too fucked up to care about? That you’re not good enough? Everyone already knows what you are. But it’s people like me who still  _ care. _ ”

“Shutup.” Jack can’t get enough breath for a proper protest. 

He’s not detached any longer. Kent’s words aren’t needles, they’re knives, slicing him open, and Kent is relentless, brutal in a way Jack’s never had turned on him before. Leaving him bleeding. “You’re scared everyone else is going to find out you’re worthless, right? Oh, don’t worry. Just give it a few seasons, Jack. Trust me.”

Jack’s throat is closing. “G-get out of my room.”

“Fine, shut me out again.”

“And stay--” it’s so hard to focus, but he has to make sure he’s the only casualty here “--stay away from my team.”

Kent smirks, his words dripping with innuendo. “Why? Afraid I’ll tell them something?” 

From some last reserve of strength, Jack channels his captain voice. Firm. Unyielding. Everything he isn’t. “Leave, Parse.” Not Kenny. Kenny is gone, lost inside this sharp-tongued stranger whittling away at Jack until there’s nothing left.

Finally, finally Parse opens the door. Jack is vaguely aware someone is out in the hall, kneeling on the floor, but it’s taking everything he has to hold it together. He has no attention to spare for anything that isn’t making sure Parse leaves his room, leaves the Haus.

Parse clears his throat. “Hey. Well. Call me if you reconsider or whatever. But good luck with the Falconers. I’m sure that’ll make your dad proud.”

The tremors wracking Jack’s body get worse with every step Parse takes. As soon as that fucking Aces snapback disappears down the stairs, Jack turns on his heel and takes the step back inside his room, collapsing back against the door, his body weight shutting it with a loud slam.

There isn’t enough air. Kenny’s--Parse’s words are a whirling vortex around him, sucking away his breath. His heart pounds in his chest, hammering away at the wall of flesh and bone like it’s going to break free and fly away.

“Jack?” the voice is hesitant, but it somehow cuts through, sweet and familiar. “Jack, honey, can I come in? I just wanna make sure you’re okay. I understand if…”

Jack loses the thread of the words, but he manages to take a few steps until he’s not leaning on the door any longer. “Come--”

He chokes on the second word, but Eric must hear him, because he’s slipping inside between one attempt at breath and the next, closing the door behind him.

“Oh, honey,” he says, his voice soft and warm. He closes the distance between them, stopping short before his hands touch Jack’s arms. “Can I touch you? Is that okay?”

Nodding is a herculean effort, but it’s worth it when Eric’s arms slide around Jack’s waist, warm where Jack had been so, so cold. 

“You have to breathe, honey,” Eric says firmly. “Come on, with me. In, two, three four…”

It’s hard. It’s so hard, but he just has to do what Eric tells him. Little by little, the tightness in his chest loosens. Little by little, the drumbeat of his heart slows. 

When Jack can notice things outside of his body again, they’re sitting on the floor. Eric has somehow managed to wrap most of his body around Jack’s despite the disparity in their sizes, heedless of the cold, clammy sweat that’s soaking Jack’s shirt, the hardwood floor under them. 

Jack is numbly sure he’ll be embarrassed about this at some point in the future; what Eric must have heard, seeing Jack, having to deal with him collapsing like this. But right now he feels...hollow. Fragile, like an empty husk that could blow away at any moment.

He must make some kind of sound or movement, because Eric stops his soft litany and loosens his grip a little, leaning back until he can see Jack’s face. “Back with me, honey?”

Jack nods automatically, the question familiar by now, although never in this context. He can’t quite get any words out, but as usual, Eric doesn’t seem to mind.

“Okay,” Eric says gently. “Can you stand up for me, honey? This floor can’t be good for you. Come on, up we get…”

Somehow, with Eric’s hands on him, Eric’s voice washing over him, Jack is able to get to his feet, to shuffle over to the bed. He shakes his head when Eric suggests a shower; it’s probably a good idea, but even if he makes it into the tub, he’s not sure he’ll make it back out again.

It’s not until they’re settled on the bed, Eric curled around Jack on the outside of the bed, that Jack can actually hear the words Eric is saying. 

“...sleep now, honey, I’ve got you, you’re safe. I know that was hard, but you did so well, you’re gonna be okay…”

Some part of Jack wants to protest, but everything is so heavy, his body and his eyes and his heart, so he falls asleep before he can say anything.

After a panic attack that bad he would have expected a restless night, nightmares chasing him out of sleep, but when he opens his eyes again, morning light is streaming in his window and the mattress behind him is still warm. 

He’s not okay. Not yet. But he thinks, somewhere in the distance, he can see a place where he will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, real life sometimes gets crazy; we'll see how updates on this go, but I am determined to finish it this year. Halfway there!!!!
> 
> As always, if you want to yell at me about why these boys are so dumb, feel free to [follow me on tumblr.](http://dizzy-redhead.tumblr.com)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric gives Jack instructions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this chapter takes place between Epikegster and Shinny; the second part takes place after [2.10 Shinny](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/114354086122). I thought about dividing it into two, but I'm lazy, and I like even-numbered chapter counts, so have an extra-long chapter with lots of smuts.
> 
> As always, thanks to raspberrycordial and ahausonfire for listening to me bitch and moan my way through writing this.

Eric’s phone buzzes on the counter; naturally it’s while he’s in the middle of separating eggs. He does his best not to rush--whatever it is will keep for two minutes until he’s done--but he still manages to pop one yolk in his distraction. 

“Fu--dge.” Glancing guiltily over his shoulder, Eric holds his breath for a moment, but no disapproving parental figures appear. Even though his mother is doing last-minute Christmas shopping and Coach is at work, he can’t help but feel like they heard him somehow. He transfers the mangled egg into a Tupperware and puts it in the fridge for breakfast, takes a deep breath, and narrows his focus. 

Once the yolks are all resting in their own bowl, bright orange in the afternoon light streaming through the windows, and the whites are chilling in the fridge, Eric washes his hands and finally allows himself to pick up his phone and unlock it. He tells himself sternly that there’s no reason his heartbeat should accelerate just from seeing Jack’s name on the screen. His heart refuses to acknowledge such foolishness, continuing happily along at its higher rate of speed.

**Jack: i'm surprised your cookies got through customs Bittle**

Eric is already grinning as he starts typing his reply.  **Why, Mr. Zimmermann. Are you implying that my baking is illegal?**

The response is nearly instantaneous.  **We take our hockey seriously in Canada. Interfering with a hockey player’s diet has got to be at least a misdemeanor**

**everybody knows holiday eating doesn’t count,** Eric shoots back, his cheeks starting to ache vaguely. **but if you’re that worried, you could share with your parents**

Seconds tick away without an answer. Realistically, Eric knows that Jack probably just got distracted. Maybe he’s at some kind of event and had to go be social instead of having his head buried in his phone. It’s hard not to feel rejected, though, especially given how up in the air things were in the rush of leaving the Haus for winter break. 

Just as Eric starts pulling out custard ingredients--coconut cream pies don’t make themselves--his phone buzzes again. Fortunately no one is in the kitchen to complain about the way the cream almost falls off the counter in Eric’s rush to grab his phone.

There’s no text, just a picture of the ziploc bag that had held the cookies, now empty of everything but a few stray crumbs. As Eric stares at the screen, another text pops up.  **A little late for that, eh?**

**tsk,** Eric sends, doing his best to keep the giddiness he feels from showing on his face.  **those were supposed to last you all break**

**well, someone didn’t give me clear directions** , Jack answers, quickly following that message with a winky emoji.

Eric stares at the screen for a long moment. His mouth has fallen ever so slightly open, but his brain feels stuck, unable to parse the possible implications of Jack’s message.  _ It could be perfectly innocent, _ he tells himself.  _ Just a joke. It doesn’t mean... _

**I’m in the kitchen and these pies won’t bake themselves,** is the response he finally settles on. **If you want instructions, you’re going to have to wait.**

The three little dots dance for what feels like forever, but in reality is probably just a few seconds, then--

**I can do that,** Jack replies. 

The breath leaves Eric’s lungs in a soft whoosh. **Are you free tonight?** he sends before he can think better of it. **About 8?**

Before Jack can reply, another message pops up, this one from Holster to the group text. Ordinarily the photo of Holster, his face smeared with jelly and powdered sugar, half-eaten jelly doughnut held high, would have had Eric laughing and googling “traditional hanukkah foods” for a post-Winter-Break surprise. Now he can only watch helplessly as Jack sends a string of smileys to the group text instead of their private conversation.

The only way out is through, though, so Eric pretends to be as surprised as everyone else, hoping to divert suspicion as he watches the aftermath.

**Me: …**

**Shitty: WHAT THE FUCK**

**Holster: butT DIAL!!!! HAHA**

**Jack: ok haha very funny** ****  
**Jack: you got me** **  
** **Jack: my ass is big I get it**

**Holster: and it miSSES US MORE THAN  YOU DO**

After a few minutes of this, Eric sets his phone down carefully in the center of the counter. He watches out of the corner of his eye as it vibrates itself closer to the edge, repositioning it every few minutes as he pulls out a saucepan and starts mixing together ingredients for the pie filling.

By the time he’s reached the interminable stirring portion of the day’s cooking, the endless vibration has separated itself into distinct notifications again. He picks up the phone, swiping it open with one hand, and taps out a series of tweets to distract himself before looking at his text app.

The group text has mostly died down at this point, just some gentle wrangling over the Habs/Sens game that night. When Eric takes a deep breath and flicks over to the conversation between him and Jack, he’s rewarded with a string of messages.

**Jack: Sorry** ****  
**Jack: I’m still not very good with this** **  
** **Jack: we’re watching the game tonight and it starts at 7**

**Jack: Maybe I could call you after** **  
** **Jack: if you still want**

It takes every fiber of self-control Eric possesses not to call Jack then and there, pies be damned.  **I’d like that,** he replies.  **Better finish these pies so I can be ready.**

He has time to see the smiley Jack sends in response--just to him, this time--before the door from the garage opens. Eric locks the phone and sets it back on the counter, stirring with renewed vigor as his mother comes bustling in, arms laden with shopping bags.

“Lord, I don’t know why I always put off shopping, but I swear it gets worse every year. Maybe I should start buying everything on the Internet like your cousin Michelle keeps telling me. How are we doing on those pies, Dicky?”

“Just fine, mama,” he replies, grateful that any pink in his cheeks can be explained away by the heat of the stove. “Lemon meringue are in the fridge and I started the coconut cream.”

Suzanne smiles, dropping her bags on the table. “That sounds lovely, honey. I’m gonna get some things wrapped before your daddy gets home. You let me know if you need a hand, though.”

“I will,” Eric promises, watching the custard thicken. It’s still too drippy, but soon. He schools his voice to be as casual as possible. “There’s a hockey game tonight; I thought I’d head up to my room and watch it about 7 so I know what the boys are yelling about in the group text.”

“Oh, how nice,” his mother says, her eyes just as misty as the first time he came home from school talking about a friend he’d made. “You know your daddy and I are going to Mrs. Gibson’s party tonight, so you could watch it in the den if you want.”

He nods. “I know, but this way I can stretch out on my bed if I start to get tired. Just wanted to let you know in case you come home early wondering where I was.”

“Not likely,” Suzanne laughs, pulling items out of bag after bag and arranging them on the tabletop according to some arcane system. “Last year we didn’t get back from the Gibsons’ place until almost two. You’re invited too, of course, but I understand you’d probably rather stay here and visit with your friends. Don’t stay up too late, though! We’ve got church tomorrow.”

“Yes, mama,” Eric says obediently, lifting the spoon out of the liquid for a moment.

“Oh, did I tell you I saw…”

He lets her chatter wash over him as he moves automatically through finishing the custard, pouring it into the prepared pie crusts, making the meringue and smoothing it over the top. He must look normal on the outside, because she doesn’t comment. Neither does Coach when he comes home. 

Eric feels almost split in two; the outward Eric, calmly making pies and chatting with his parents, waving goodbye as they leave, and the inward Eric, blood thrumming through his veins, anticipation coiling tighter and tighter in his belly. His heartbeat is hammering out one word, over and over, until it’s all he can hear, all he can think.

_ Soon. Soon, soon, soon. _

_ Soon. _

* * *

Eric is lying in his bed, idly flicking back and forth between his twitter feed and the group chat which is still gleefully dissecting the game, when his screen lights up with an incoming call. His thumb swipes to answer without conscious direction from his brain, his hand lifts the phone to his ear.

“Hello.” He’d expected his voice to sound tentative, a reflection of the way his heart had sped up as he answered the call, but it comes out firm, with that strange calm that always fills him when he...when Jack...when they’re together like this.

“Hi,” Jack’s voice says, just a little tentative, a little hushed. A pause. “Some game, huh?”

Eric can’t help but laugh. It’s so Jack, so normal. It gives Eric the confidence to reply. “It sure was. Is that why you wanted to call me, Jack?”

He can hear Jack’s indrawn breath through the phone, like he’s there in the room, not the better part of a thousand miles away. “No,” he finally admits.

The word hangs in the air between them. Eric struggles for a minute to know where to begin; it’s hard, when Jack is a voice on the phone, not a physical presence. But Jack is waiting, Jack is trusting him, and, as usual, this is what propels Eric into action.

“You want me to tell you what to do, honey?” he asks, because he needs to hear the words, needs the confirmation.

“Yes,” Jack breathes instantly. “Please.”

There’s a slight edge of nerves to his voice, like he half-expects Eric to deny him. “Shh, honey, I’ve got you,” he soothes. “Are you lying down?”

He hears a soft, rustling sound, like Jack nodded. “I can’t see you, Jack,” he reminds gently. “I need to hear you say it.

“Yeah,” Jack says quietly. “I’m lying down.”

“Good, good. I know it’s hard, but I need you to keep talking for me, okay?”

More rustles. “Okay. I’ll try.”

“I know you will.” Eric does his best to convey his smile through his voice, push it through the air into Jack’s room. “You’re always so good for me. What clothes are you wearing right now, honey?”

“Um…” 

If Eric closes his eyes he can picture it: Jack stretched out on his bed, that blush staining his cheeks pink, traveling down his neck. “Are you naked for me, sweetheart?”

“I--I thought--”

“That’s perfect, honey,” Eric hastens to reassure him. “I want you to close your eyes for me, okay? Close them, and imagine I’m right there with you. I’m sitting right beside the bed, and I’m going to tell you exactly what I want you to do. You just do exactly what I say, all right? Can you see me there?”

The rustling sound comes again, but Jack says “Yes” almost at the same time. His breath is already coming faster, his voice lower than usual, just a little rough in a way that makes Eric want to wrap himself up in it.

“Good,” he says, keeping his own eyes closed, one hand stroking idly up and down his stomach just above the waistband of his boxers. “I want you to touch yourself, honey. Pretend it’s me; where do you want me to touch you?”

“My…” Jack’s voice trails off for a moment, he sucks in a breath. “My neck. My chest.”

Eric has to swallow, a little overcome by the mental picture. “Good, sweetheart. You’re doing so well. Does that feel good?”

Jack sucks in a breath. “So good. My--ah--my nipples are, um. Sensitive.”

“Touch them for me,” Eric orders reflexively, biting his lip when Jack moans quietly into the phone. “That’s it, honey, you look so good right now. I want you to take one of your hands and wrap it around that gorgeous cock now.”

He’s rewarded with another quiet, breathy moan, the sound of Jack’s breath coming faster. “There you go, sweetheart.” Eric finally lets himself push his boxers off, biting back a groan at how good it feels to finally touch his cock, hard and aching. “Let me hear you.”

Jack’s breathing like he just got off a ten-minute shift now, fast and hard. If he listens closely, Eric can hear the soft, wet sounds of skin sliding on skin, the rustling of the sheets against Jack’s body. 

“So good for me,” he manages through a throat gone tight, his body racing to catch up with Jack. “Wish I was there with you, honey. Wanna get my hands and my mouth all over you, make you feel so good--”

A whimpering sound interrupts him, Jack’s breath almost sobbing out of his throat, and Eric can’t help but soothe.

“I know, sweetheart, I know, but I’ll see you soon, gonna take good care of you, tie you up and make you come--”

“ _ S’il te plait,”  _ Jack breathes, his voice a harsh whisper. “ _ S’il-- _ please, please, can I come, please--”

Eric plants his feet on the bed, fucking up into his fist. “Yes, honey, come for me, let me hear you…”

He keeps up his stream of words through the familiar sounds of Jack’s orgasm, the way he almost holds his breath at the last moment, the shuddering sighs of relief. He can picture it in vivid detail and he isn’t quite sure if it’s picturing Jack coming or the memory of him begging for permission, but either way he couldn’t hold back his own orgasm if he tried.

They lie there in the dark, a thousand miles apart and as close as a breath, neither of them willing to break the spell. The last thing Eric remembers before he falls asleep is the faint sound of Jack’s snores in his ear.

* * *

By some miracle, no one else is in sight when Eric and Jack reach the top of the stairs. The sounds of overexcited hockey players returning from practice echo through the Haus, but by the time they turn the corner down the small hallway that leads to their rooms, it’s like they’re the only two people on earth. Eric can practically feel the tension winding tighter between them with every step, vibrating through his body.

Jack opens his door with automatic, habitual motions, then hesitates, glancing back over his shoulder toward Eric. His shoulders relax down away from his ears when Eric nods.

Eric can’t resist pressing up against Jack as he brushes past him into the room. It feels like forever since they fell asleep together, longer since he got to touch. That fist-bump at the Pond did absolutely nothing to sate this hunger coiling in his gut, the need to feel Jack’s skin under his hands.

As soon as Jack closes the door and turns the lock, Eric is pressing him against the door. He wants, he wants, but this isn’t just about him, so he forces himself to ask. “Is this okay?”

He has his answer before Jack even speaks, the way his body is melting into Eric’s, leaning into his touch, but it’s still a relief when Jack breathes, “Yes.  _ Please. _ ”

“Too many clothes,” Eric mutters half to himself, shoving Jack’s shirt up unceremoniously, stripping it off and tossing it impatiently aside so he can get his hands on skin. “There we go. What do you want, honey?”

“I--anything,” Jack gasps, reaching out to grab the hem of Eric’s sweater for a second before yanking his hands back and pressing them against the door. “Anything, Eric, please, just tell me--”

One quick motion has Jack’s sweatpants and boxers pushed down to his knees. “Step out of those,” Eric orders, trailing his fingers up Jack’s hips to wrap around his waist while he does so, pausing for a second to toe out of his shoes and socks. “Good, honey. Now go lie down on the bed.”

Jack bites his lip, white teeth digging into pink flesh, his cheeks flushed the same pink. “You, ah--”

“Oh, Lord. Of course, sweetheart.” Eric takes a step back from where he has Jack trapped against the door. It’s an odd, heady feeling; he knows damn well that Jack could probably move him with one arm, especially with the bulk he’s added this year. But clearly the thought never crossed Jack’s mind.

Eric strips off his clothes with swift efficiency. A large part of him just wants to drape himself over Jack’s body, kissing and grinding against each other until they both come. But that isn’t what they do, so Eric pushes the dull ache of that knowledge, the hunger for Jack’s lips, to the back of his mind, retrieving the lube from Jack’s desk drawer before crossing to the bed.

“This is gonna be fast,” he warns, climbing up to straddle Jack’s legs, his hands drawn to Jack’s skin as if magnetically attracted. “Lord only knows when somebody’s going to come looking for us. Give me your hand, honey.”

Jack obeys instantly, lifting one big hand off the sheet. Eric squeezes out a dollop of lube into Jack’s palm, then guides it down to wrap around his cock, already hard and aching against his thigh. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he breathes, letting his eyes close and his head fall back for a moment at how good the touch feels. “That’s so good, you have no idea, missed--” 

He only just barely catches himself before admitting to something stupid. When he opens his eyes, though, Jack doesn’t seem to have noticed anything amiss. His eyes are heavy, just the barest flash of blue from under his lids, his hips hitching up under Eric every time his knuckles graze his own cock. 

“Do you think you can get your hand around both of us?” Eric asks, trailing a finger up the hard line of Jack’s cock. 

Jack’s answer is to do it, lining their cocks up and starting to stroke again. His hand is still slick with lube, but the hot, hard line of his cock against Eric’s is an extra friction that has him close to the edge within an embarrassingly short time.

“Yeah, honey, just like that,” Eric says. His own hands are busy touching every inch of Jack’s skin he can reach, unreasonably greedy after just a few weeks’ separation. “You’re gonna make me come, sweetheart, gonna come all over you, get you all filthy.”

“ _ Ouias,” _ Jack pants, his breath harsh in his throat. “Yes, please, please…”

“I want you to come when I do,” Eric orders. “Can you do that for me? Are you close?”

Jack nods frantically, his forehead furrowed, his face almost pained like it always is when he’s right at the edge.

“Oh, fuck,” Eric groans, closing his eyes. “Just like that, honey, don’t stop, you’re so good, so good…”

His orgasm steals his breath, arches his back, digs his fingers into Jack’s arms. Jack shudders under him and everything is wet, slick heat on them and between them.

Eric forces his eyes open as soon as he can, but the sight that greets him is almost enough to make him come again. Jack is spread out under him like the physical embodiment of porn, milky liquid spattered over his chest and pooling in the indentations of his abs, his lips bitten red, his face and chest flushed. 

“You look so good,” Eric blurts, because his brain-to-mouth filter is temporarily disabled. “It’s a shame we have to clean you up. Lucky I have a good memory.”

Jack flushes darker, but he smiles a little, letting his semen-coated hand fall to the bedsheets as Eric climbs down and navigates to the bathroom on shaky legs.

The urge to kiss Jack is stronger than ever when he gets back with a wet washcloth. Jack is always so pliable and sweet in these afterwards moments, almost cuddly, if such a word can be applied to a six-foot Canadian hockey Adonis. Eric does his best to sublimate the urge by cleaning Jack off as slowly and gently as possible, letting his hands linger.

When he picks up Jack’s hand to wipe it clean, he startles. “Jack, honey! Why didn’t you tell me I hurt you?”

Jack blinks slowly at the crescent-shaped marks in his forearm that Eric’s short fingernails had left behind. “I didn’t notice,” he said slowly. “It doesn’t look too bad.”

Eric picks up the other arm and, sure enough, there’s a matching set. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing it’s so cold,” he mutters, not daring to meet Jack’s eyes. “You’ll have to wear long sleeves for a few days if you don’t want the boys to chirp the life out of you.”

“Eh.” Jack shrugs. “It’ll be okay. Will you stay for a little while?” he adds as Eric straightens.

“I--” Eric bites his lip. He shouldn’t; it’s the middle of the afternoon. Someone will come looking for him, or Jack, or both of them. But--

“Just a few minutes,” Jack coaxes, rolling onto his side. “Please?”

It would take a stronger man than Eric Bittle to resist that face. “Okay,” he says, climbing into the bed behind Jack, curling his body around the larger man. “Just for a minute.”

Jack sighs, his body relaxing into Eric’s, and something that’s been aching inside Eric’s chest since he left Samwell finally settles. 

This is stupid. Eric knows it. There’s no way this is going to end well. Honestly, the fact that Jack wants to fuck him is mind-blowing, unexpected. But it’s not like Eric is going to get out of this without heartbreak. He’s already done the stupid thing and fallen for Jack; if this is all he gets, he might as well enjoy it.

For as long as he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing is ticking right along on this fic; hopefully I can continue, but I do need to get back to working on the original stuff that might make me money at least part of the time, so the pace will probably slow a bit. I'm going to try and get it wrapped up before September, though!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Eric leave Lardo's show a little early
> 
> Takes place after the events of [2.11 Junior Show](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/129092955177)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be shorter, I said. It doesn't have two sex scenes, I said.
> 
> My muse: *cackles gleefully*
> 
> In other news, Chapter 9, y'all! I'm beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel, although I think I might murder them and all of us with feelings before we get there. Possibly. 
> 
> As always, huge thanks are due to ahausonfire and raspberrycordial for putting up with my endless whining about this fic and these dumb boys. 
> 
> Possibly a slight warning for possessive behavior, if that's the kind of thing that bothers you.

Jack hadn’t even realized that Lardo had slipped out of the gallery at first, not until Eric had disengaged from their loud celly and followed her, taking that little piece of Jack’s attention that always follows him. It had taken the combined efforts of Jack, Ransom and Holster to keep Shitty from chasing after Eric and Lardo, and by the time they make their way back inside, Jack feels almost as ragged as Shitty looks. 

“Everything okay?” Jack asks softly when Eric is back within hearing distance. 

Eric lifts a shoulder, his face unusually serious. “I think so. It’s a lot, you know? A lot is going to change, and it’s coming so fast.”

The truth of it stops any reply in Jack’s throat, heavy as a stone. It really does feel like the semester, the school year, his time at Samwell is accelerating, going faster by the day. When he first came here, four years felt interminable, an unbearable purgatory that he had to pass through before he could make it to the promised land of the NHL. But now he finds himself trying to freeze time, to remember everything about the moments that keep slipping through his fingers.

“Are you okay, honey?” Eric’s voice is quiet, but it’s enough to snap Jack out of his spiraling thoughts.

He has to swallow a couple of times, but Eric’s closeness helps him finally get the words out. “I think so,” he says. “You’re right. It’s a lot. Sometimes it hits me.”

Eric’s hand is warm on his arm; Jack has to shove his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for him, curling into his body. “Do you want to get out of here?” Eric asks, his voice still soft, just for Jack’s ears.

Jack does, he wants to be someplace where he can touch Eric without worrying about who’s looking. But he’s the captain, and Lardo is part of his team. His friend. He needs to be here, to support her. 

As usual, though, Eric can tell what he’s thinking. “Lardo won’t mind,” he says, using his hand on Jack’s arm to lead him toward the door. “I promise you, she understands that sometimes you have to get away. Come on, let’s head back to the Haus.”

When Jack still hesitates, Eric leans in even closer and drops his voice until Jack has to strain to hear it. “Mr. Zimmermann, you march your hockey butt out that door and back to the Haus so I can peel you outta that suit like I’ve been wanting to all night.”

Jack’s feet are carrying him to the door before his brain can fully process the words, Eric right beside him, matching him step for step.

* * *

They don’t talk on the walk back to the Haus, moving through the Samwell night with a single purpose. The campus is beautiful at night; still cold, snow still on the ground, but the March air has that indefinable sense that spring is on its way, the vaguest hint of thawing warmth and new, growing things. Jack breathes deep and feels the weight in his chest loosen, just a little bit, as his feet carry him along the familiar route.

They climb the front steps together, Jack’s arm brushing Eric’s in a way that sends a shiver down his spine, even with the layers of clothing between them. The Haus is unusually silent with the rest of the team still at Lardo’s show. It makes it seem somehow weightier, this thing that they do. More real, when Eric can rest his hand at the small of Jack’s back as they make their way up the stairs.

Jack hesitates between their doors, but that guiding hand steers him toward Eric’s room. He opens the door and steps inside the dimly lit space, dark except for Eric’s desk lamp.

“Is this okay?” Eric asks quietly, closing the door behind them.

“Yeah,” Jack replies, his voice equally quiet. They haven’t even done anything, not really, but just the act of stepping into Eric’s space has him relaxing, the tension draining out of his shoulders. “I--It’s good.”

“Good,” Eric echoes, stepping into Jack’s space, running his hands up Jack’s chest. The warmth of his touch seems to burn through the fabric of Jack’s shirt. “It is unfair how good you look in this suit, you know.”

All Jack can manage is a quiet hum, distracted by Eric’s touch. 

“But I bet you’ll look even better out of it,” Eric continues, one corner of his mouth curling up in that little smirk that always makes Jack’s breath catch in his throat. He pushes Jack’s jacket down his arms, letting it fall to the floor, then draws his hands slowly back up Jack’s arms. “Took everything I had to keep my hands off of you tonight.”

“Why do you think my hands were in my pockets so much?” Jack gets out, proud of himself when Eric’s cheeks go pink. 

“Mister Zimmermann,” he exclaims, all mock-scandalized as he starts unbuttoning Jack’s shirt, his fingertips brushing against skin as they move. “Were you thinkin’ dirty thoughts with all those people around?”

Jack sucks in a breath when Eric’s fingers graze his stomach, tugging his shirttails free of of his waistband. “Was thinking--” he loses his train of thought when Eric tugs the zipper down on his slacks and reaches inside for one teasing stroke “--fuck.”

Eric blinks innocently up at him. “You were saying?”

“I was thinking,” Jack starts again, doing his best to ignore the feather-light brushes of Eric’s fingers unbuttoning his shirt cuffs. “Was thinking you looked good. And thinking--” he hesitates.

“Tell me,” Eric says, looking up at Jack as he undoes the last button and pushes Jack’s shirt off to join his jacket on the floor. “Please.”

A touch of nerves curls in Jack’s stomach, but he can’t refuse Eric. “Thinking that no one else gets to see you like this.”

“Just you,” Eric agrees, reaching for the button on Jack’s slacks. His voice takes on an edge. “Nobody else gets to see you like this, either.”

“Just you,” Jack echoes.

Eric smiles fiercely, pushing Jack’s slacks and boxers down his legs. “Good, honey. Go get on your hands and knees on the bed for me, okay?”

Jack goes willingly; grateful for the familiarity of Eric’s command after the undertones of that conversation. He settles onto the bed, his eyes sliding closed as he does his best to settle into that peaceful place in his mind. 

He can hear the rustle of Eric undressing behind him. It’s tempting to turn his head and look, but he breathes instead, pulling the air in and holding it for a count of three before letting it out again. 

By the time the bed shifts under him, Jack feels like he could wait forever, lost in this anticipatory space. His cock is hard, but that seems almost distant, unimportant compared to whatever Eric has planned for him.

“What do you do if you need me to stop, honey?” Eric asks, his voice slow and rich.

Jack taps the bed twice with his hand and Eric rewards him with a long, lingering stroke of hands up the backs of his thighs, thumbs digging into the crease at the base of Jack’s ass.

“Good boy,” Eric murmurs, his hands squeezing, urging Jack’s legs wider before one of them lets go.

The shiver that always runs up Jack’s spine at those words distracts him from wondering what’s going to happen next. As it turns out, what happens next is the click of a cap, Eric’s hands spreading him wide, a slick fingertip teasing over his ass.

Jack drops his forehead to Eric’s pillow, taking long, deep breaths, doing his best to relax. Eric’s other hand rubs soothing circles on his hip, matching the rhythm of that fingertip.

“That’s it, honey,” Eric murmurs. “You let me take care of everything. Just relax now, I’ve got you.”

It’s true, Jack knows. Eric has him, Eric always has him. His body feels like it’s melting into the mattress, heavy with relaxation, by the time Eric’s finger starts working its way inside, slow slick thrusts that light up his body from the inside out. 

“Yeah,” Eric breathes when his finger is pumping easily in and out, drawing a matching whimper from Jack with each thrust. “So good for me, sweetheart, just look at you.”

He adds another finger, working it into Jack’s ass so slowly and carefully that Jack never feels a burn, nothing but the glorious stretch that has his cock hard and aching under him. The third finger is more of a stretch, a slow, glorious torment that has Jack writhing, not sure if he’s trying to get away or move closer. 

“So good,” Eric repeats, his voice rough, his breath coming fast as he fucks three fingers in and out of Jack. “You’re doing so well, honey. Can you take another one?”

Jack’s eyes are squeezed closed, his fists clenched around Eric’s pillow. The lack of sight has made everything else more intense; the wet, obscene sounds of Eric’s fingers moving in him, the smell of lube and precome, the warmth of Eric’s hand on his hip, the zing of sensation down his spine when Eric’s fingers nudge against his prostate. “I...uh…”

“I want you to try,” Eric says. “You can tap out or tell me to stop any time you need to. But I want you to try for me, sweetheart.”

Jack nods his assent, doing his best not to tense up. Apparently he doesn’t succeed, though, because Eric smacks his ass lightly, scolds, “Stop that!”

“Sorry,” Jack mumbles, returning to his deep breathing.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Eric soothes. His free hand moves from Jack’s hip to grip his asscheek, squeezing and kneading. “You’re doing good, honey. Gonna make you feel so good--”

More lube, cool at first but warming quickly, Eric’s fingers spreading wide inside him. Eric’s hands on him. Eric’s words in his ears. He’s surrounded by Eric, filled with Eric. 

They both suck in a breath when Eric adds the fourth finger, slowly, so slowly. Jack feels like the barest touch on his cock could make him come, just a strong breeze might be enough. He wants to ask, to beg, but he can only moan.

“Oh, fuck,” Eric breathes. “Oh, fuck. Jack, sweetheart, you’re so good. Just look at you. You’re so good.”

Everything in Jack’s world has narrowed down to this; the need to come, simultaneously close enough to touch and just out of reach, the slow, inexorable thrusts of Eric’s fingers. He’s suspended, pinned, his hips rolling against nothing, desperate for friction, for touch.

“I could look at you like this all day.” Eric’s voice is low and rough. “Nobody else gets to see you like this. It’s just for me. Nobody else gets to see how beautifully you take this. Nobody else gets to hear you, the sounds you make, God, Jack, I could come just listening to you. Want to make you come like this, can you come for me like this?”

Jack shakes his head, but the pressure is building with every thrust of Eric’s fingers, every press against his prostate. 

“I think you can,” Eric says firmly, angling his fingers so he hits Jack’s prostate every time, never slowing, never stopping. “I want you to try for me, honey. Want you to come like this. You’re always so gorgeous when you come for me, sweetheart, you’re so good--”

His orgasm hits Jack like a full-body check, hard and brutal. Eric coaxes him through it until Jack is almost sobbing with how sensitive he is. 

“...so good for me, honey,” Eric is saying when Jack can hear again. “That was perfect, you did so good. Wish I could fuck you right now--”

“You can,” Jack says, his voice rusty. “I--you can. I like it.”

Eric’s hand clamps down on Jack’s hips, fingers digging in, just for a moment. “Jack. Sweetheart, are you sure?”

Jack nods, turning his head so he can meet Eric’s eyes. “I’m sure. Fuck me. Please.”

He watches, entranced, as Eric’s eyes flutter closed, his chest heaving as he sucks in a breath. “Fuck. Okay. Condom. I need a condom.”

The pillow is cool and soft against Jack’s forehead when he drops it back down, listening as Eric rummages in his desk drawer. Everything feels like a countdown to what he wants, what he’s waiting for, his mind calm and quiet for once. Feeling the mattress shift under him, hearing the rip and crinkle of the condom packet. The wet, filthy sounds that could only be Eric slicking up his cock. The blunt pressure against Jack’s ass.

“You tell me if you need me to stop.” The command in Eric’s voice is absolute, but he doesn’t hesitate as he pushes inside in one long, hard stroke. “Oh, fuck. You feel so good, honey.”

It’s been so long since Jack got to have this, he’d forgotten what it was like, the brutal, sharp-edged pleasure of being pushed beyond the comfortable, the safe. Eric starts off slowly, careful like he always is with Jack, but even that is enough to send electricity coursing through his veins, to have his cock hardening again before it ever really softened.

Then Eric gets a good grip on his hips and starts to fuck him in earnest, fast snaps of his hips, his cock driving deep inside. Jack buries his face in the pillow to muffle his cries.

“No,” Eric orders. “Let me hear you, Jack. I--earned--those. Give ‘em to me.”

Jack turns his head to the side, cheek pressed against the pillow, and stops trying to hold back. Every thrust of Eric’s cock punches new sounds out of him, groans and moans and whimpers that aren’t even close to forming words. His hands clench on the pillow until they ache, but it’s a distant feeling, paling in comparison to the thick, inexorable pressure of Eric’s cock filling him, again and again, the ache of his own cock, hanging hard between his legs.

“That’s it,” Eric pants, fucking him even harder. “That’s it, I’m so close. You feel so good, sweetheart, so fucking good for me, fuck--” 

He falls silent for a minute, the room quiet except for Jack’s cries and the rasp of Eric’s breathing, the wet sounds of each thrust. “Touch yourself,” Eric orders finally, and Jack scrambles to obey, whimpering with relief when his hand closes around his cock. “That’s it, honey, get your hand on that gorgeous cock. Want you to come for me again. I know you can, you’re so good, fuck, come on, honey, come for me--”

Eric fucks into him, hard, irregular strokes, then thrusts deep one last time, grinding like he can’t stand not being as deep inside Jack as possible. 

Jack cries out, louder this time, but he can’t help it, the strokes of his hand, wet with his own come, the press of Bitty’s cock against his prostate. The second orgasm rips its way out of him and he collapses onto the bed, unable to care about the fact that he’s lying in a pool of semen.

He takes Eric with him, barely noticing the extra weight until Eric’s chin digs into his back. He manages a complaining grumble, then another when Eric pulls out. He can’t help wincing; without arousal rushing through him, his nerves are oversensitive almost to the point of pain. 

“Sorry, honey,” Eric mumbles, stroking a soothing hand over his back. “You just lay there; I’ll get something to clean you up with.”

The next thing Jack knows, Eric’s hands are urging him over onto his side. He grumbles a little, but goes with it, and none too soon, since the wet sheet peels reluctantly away from his skin with a disgusting squelch.

“Oh, Lord,” Eric sighs. “I suppose it is my own fault. Let’s get you up, honey; gotta change these sheets.”

Jack’s legs are wobbly when he gets to his feet. Fortunately Eric’s desk chair isn’t far and he sinks down into it, waiting patiently as Eric wipes him clean, strips the sheets off the bed, and remakes it efficiently.

“I think everybody’s still out,” Eric finally says, when everything is arranged to his satisfaction. “If you want to slip back across the hall without having to put that whole suit back on. A nice warm shower would probably feel good right now, huh?”

Jack nods, feeling reluctant even though he doesn’t know why. A shower does sound amazing, but even the thought of warm water cascading over him leaves him a little cold. “Yeah...I should...”

Eric crosses the room, taking one of Jack’s hands in his. “Are you okay, honey? Do you need something?”

“You don’t...you’ve already…” Jack stammers to a halt, frustrated with himself. What’s wrong with him? Why is he like this?

“Hey.” Eric squeezes his hand, pulling him back into the present. “Sweetheart, you can always ask me for what you want, okay? Tell me.”

It takes a couple of tries, a cleared throat, but Jack finally forces out the words. “Come with me?”

He feels stupid as soon as he says it. The Haus might be empty now, but the others will be coming back. Eric coming out of his room when they can see, maybe Shitty catching them in the bathroom; it’s not worth it. He’s opening his mouth to take it back, somehow--

“Sure,” Eric says easily. “Let me get my pajamas.”

Jack blinks. The next thing he knows, Eric has a neat bundle of clothes and a towel and is shepherding him across the hall, into the bathroom and under the shower spray. Eric’s hands, slick with lather, slide over his skin, and Jack’s heartbeat slows, slides back to a normal rhythm.

“Can I?” he asks quietly when Eric starts to scrub himself off.

“Okay,” Eric says, his hands falling to his sides, a flash of surprise in his eyes so quick that Jack could almost think he imagined it. 

Jack squeezes body wash into his palms and rubs them together, building up the lather, and sets them on Eric’s shoulders, thumbs stroking over his collarbones. The last bit of unease under his skin fades away with the rightness of Eric’s skin under his hands, like closing a circuit. 

It’s hard to remember sometimes, when he’s ordering Jack or the rest of the team around so confidently, how much smaller Eric is than Jack. There’s nothing childish about the hard muscle of his arms and chest, the compact strength of him. But there’s something comforting about the way he feels under Jack’s hands. The way they fit together.

They move past each other without speaking, bodies brushing, changing places to let Eric rinse off under the spray, his head tipped back. The urge to kiss him burns through Jack like a wildfire, fast and deadly. 

He can imagine it so vividly it’s like a memory; Eric’s lips, wet with rapidly cooling water, parting and warming under his, Eric’s skin sliding wetly against his. Jack drags his thoughts away with a forcible wrench, but not before Eric starts frowning at whatever shows on his face. 

Before Eric can question it, though, he yelps as the spray abruptly goes cool, the hot water heater taxed beyond its meager endurance. Jack reaches past him to turn off the water and pulls back the curtain. 

They dry off and dress in a mostly easy silence, Jack ruthlessly keeping his attention from wandering to areas where it shouldn’t go--although arguably watching Eric wriggle into the tiny excuse for shorts he wears to bed is probably another place it shouldn’t go, but Jack’s only human. 

Finally, though, Eric gathers up his towel. “Good night, Jack,” he says, squeezing Jack’s hand one more time before slipping out the door and across the hall to his own room. 

Jack expects sleep to evade him, but as soon as he stretches out on his own bed, his eyes feel heavy, and his thoughts slow.

The last thing he remembers before he falls asleep is imagining Eric’s lips on his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently this fic is what my muse wants to work on now, so hopefully we can get finished in a timely manner. Thanks so much to everyone who has commented and your kind words; y'all are what keep me going. Now if only it was possible to make a living writing fanfiction....
> 
> As always, if you like a random assortment of Check Please, MCU, politics, social justice, queer things, and actors who are too pretty for their own good, you can [follow me on Tumblr](http://dizzy-redhead.tumblr.com)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric just wants to help Jack sleep. Honest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has actually been drafted for a couple of days, but an idea for NurseyDex week started eating my brain (of which I have yet to finish one chapter, ugh, why am I like this) and work went crazy and just...life. Stuff. But we're very much on the downhill side here! Only a few more chapters to go!!!

The bus is dark as it rolls through the night, lit only by a few screens here and there. Eric had parked himself in the back row at the beginning of the drive not wanting to bother anyone but determined to finish editing his next episode in time to upload it once they reach the hotel wifi.

When he looks up from the laptop, it takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. Most of the team is asleep; they’re all tired from the last push before the playoffs. Ransom and Holster are slumped over onto each other, somehow managing to provide mutual support and drool on each other at the same time. Chowder has claimed two seats and curled up underneath his Sharks blanket, snoring softly. Ollie and Wicks are snickering quietly over something they’re watching, and Dex and Nursey have reached some kind of miraculous truce, Dex’s head tipped over onto Nursey’s shoulder in his sleep.

Finally, Eric lets his eyes go where they’ve wanted to all along. Jack is, of course, not sleeping; the screen of his laptop has been dimmed out of consideration for others, but it’s still bright in the darkened bus. Even from two rows behind, Eric can tell that he’s watching game video. Again.

Eric closes his own laptop and makes his way forward before he can think better of it, swaying with the movement of the bus, until he can squat down next to Jack.

“Not tired?” he whispers.

Jack hits pause on the video, rubbing his eyes. “Euh. I am, but…” He lifts one shoulder in a shrug, one that Eric interprets as _but my brain won’t shut up long enough to let me sleep._

“Busy mind.” Eric finishes when it’s clear Jack isn’t going to continue. “I know how that goes. But you should try to rest, even if we just have practice tomorrow.”

“I’m trying,” Jack returns tiredly. “I just can’t shut it off.”

Eric has to force himself not to reach out, to smooth the frown lines off Jack’s forehead. In the darkened, almost intimate space, it’s hard to remember the reasons why. But any of their teammates could wake up or look over, and then what?

Besides, Jack isn’t Eric’s to touch. Not in public.

“Come with me,” Eric whispers, the words slipping out before he can stop them.

Jack closes his laptop without question, stowing it in his backpack before getting to his feet. He follows Eric to the back of the bus, settling into the seat and looking up expectantly as Eric slides in next to him.

 _What am I doing?_ Eric asks himself, but it’s a rhetorical question, really. He knows what he’s doing; he’s known since he saw Jack was still awake. If he was smarter, he’d wait until they got to the hotel. But Eric has never been smart about Jack, and that’s not likely to change at this point.

Jack sucks in a quiet breath when Eric spreads his blanket across both  of their laps. It’s a thin enough shield for what he has in mind, but enough for deniability. If they need it.

Eric leans in, lets his lips brush against Jack’s ear, his hand land high on Jack’s muscled thigh. “Can you be quiet for me, honey?” he breathes.

“I--” Jack licks his lips. “I can try.”

“If you can be quiet--” Eric trails his fingers higher, doing his best to tamp down the feeling of power rushing through him when he finds Jack already fully hard and tenting his sweatpants. “Then maybe I can help you get your mind calmed down enough to sleep. Okay?”

There’s a moment of silence, a long hesitation. Just when Eric is about to snatch his hand back, when he can feel the embarrassment staining his cheeks red, Jack nods.

“Yeah. Please.”

His voice is barely audible, even though Eric is only inches away, but Eric still takes the excuse to press a finger to his lips, the stubble of his playoff beard a quiet rasp against Eric’s hand.

“Shhh, honey,” Eric says, cupping Jack’s cock in his other hand, feeling the heat of it through the fabric. “Quiet, remember?”

He doesn’t wait for a response before tugging the waistband of Jack’s sweats down to free his cock. The foreskin is already partially pulled back around the head, sliding easily under Eric’s palm as he strokes slowly down the shaft.

The noise Jack makes is barely audible, just a breath caught in the back of his throat, but, Eric presses his finger just a little harder, feeling Jack’s lips part under the pressure. He notes it with one part of his attention, but the rest of him is busy rubbing his thumb across the head of Jack’s cock, spreading out the precome beading there and using it to slick his hand before stroking again.

“That’s it,” Eric breathes, catching Jack’s earlobe lightly between his teeth. “Gotta be good and quiet for me, sweetheart. If you make too much noise, someone might look back here and see what we’re doing.”

Jack swallows hard, his cock thrusting up into Eric’s hand, and Eric’s eyes widen as he puts two and two together.

“Or maybe you’d like that,” he continues, and Jack shudders all over. “Would you like that, honey? Want everybody to see how good you are for me? How gorgeous you are like this?”

The whimper in Jack’s throat is muffled, but still audible. “I think you would like that,” Eric murmurs, moving his hand faster over Jack’s cock. “But I’m not in the mood to share tonight. If you can’t be quiet, I’ll just have to give you something to occupy your mouth.”

He presses against Jack’s lower lip, nudging his mouth open until he can slip two fingers inside. “Suck,” he orders softly.

Jack obeys instantly, curling his tongue around Eric’s fingers, sucking like, well, like it’s Eric’s cock inside his mouth. Eric has to close his eyes and breathe for a moment, remind himself that this isn’t about him. This is about Jack. What Jack needs.

“Good boy,” Eric whispers, letting himself press an open-mouthed kiss just under the hinge of Jack’s jaw. “Come on, honey, I know you’re close.”

Jack’s whole body is quivering now, his hips rolling up to fuck his cock into Eric’s hand. Eric watches for a minute, gauging his moment, then leans down to close his mouth over the head of Jack’s cock, sucking lightly. Jack comes almost instantly, his mouth hot and tight around Eric’s fingers.

Eric swallows, swirling his tongue around the head of Jack’s cock until Jack starts pulling away, then sits back up. He pulls Jack’s sweatpants and boxers back up to where they belong and wipes delicately at the corner of his mouth, retrieving his other hand from Jack’s mouth.

“How do you feel?” he whispers, rubbing up and down Jack’s arm. “Think you could sleep now?”

“Mmmm,” Jack sighs, his eyes still closed. “Yeah, I think so.”

Eric smiles, settling back into his seat and pulling the blanket more securely over them. “Good, honey. Get some rest.”

To all appearances, Jack obeys, so Eric startles a few minutes later when Jack whispers, “What about you?”

“Me?” Eric repeats inanely before he puts two and two together, Jack’s words and the way his cock is still half-hard under the blanket. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I’ll be fine. You need your sleep.”

“But--” Jack trails off, frowning, then tries again. “I want--I wanted--”

Eric summons up his brightest smile and his quietest whisper. “I think we’ve already pushed our luck enough, doing that on the bus. We’ll be in Philly for three or four days; we can work something out, okay? Lie back and get some rest, honey.”

The little frown wrinkle doesn’t smooth out from between Jack’s eyebrows, but he does settle obediently back and close his eyes again. “Okay.”

Eric watches for a moment to be sure there won’t be more argument, then lets himself rest his head against Jack’s shoulder and close his own eyes. He tells himself it’s because Jack seems to need more physical contact after they...hook up.

He doesn’t believe himself even a little bit

* * *

By the time they get to the hotel and Lardo is passing out their their room keys, Eric can barely keep his eyes open, and he’s not the only one. Which is why he doesn’t really process what she said about roommate assignments until Jack unlocks room 325 seconds before Eric can, holding the door open as he steps inside.

“Everything cool, Bitty?” Lardo asks, her jaw cracking on a yawn mid-sentence.

“Sure, yeah,” Eric says, shaking himself into motion. “Just asleep on my feet, I guess.”

She smiles, her eyes already half-closed. “All of us are. Night, Bitty.”

“Goodnight,” he calls over his shoulder as the door swings closed behind him.

Jack drops his bag next to the nearest bed, his cheeks flushed and his eyes downcast. “Is this okay?” he asks. “I told Lardo we might need to go over plays or stuff.”

Eric lets his own bag slide off his shoulder and gives serious consideration to just face-planting in the bed. “‘s fine,” he says. Apparently Lardo’s yawn was contagious. “At this point I’m not thinkin’ about much ‘cept sleepin’ in a bed, not sittin’ up in the bus.”

“Yeah, me too,” Jack agrees, toeing off his shoes. He hesitates between the two beds for a long minute.

“You can take whatever bed you want,” Eric says, kicking his own shoes aside and briefly contemplating brushing his teeth before giving up on the idea. “I’m not picky.”

Jack opens his mouth, then closes it again. “I uh, was wondering...never mind.”

He’s turned away, pulling down the covers on the bed by the window, before the light bulb goes off in Eric’s head. “Honey, did you want to share?”

“If--we don’t have to,” Jack says in a rush, his back still turned.

“No, that’s fine,” Eric mumbles, stumbling around to the other side of the bed and sliding under the covers. He groans softly; it feels so good to be horizontal that he literally can’t keep his eyes open. “Well? You comin’?”

Jack huffs out a tiny laugh. The mattress shifts, the covers rustle, and then the bed is suddenly about five degrees warmer because Jack Zimmermann is a human space heater.

“What’s--” another yawn sneaks up on Eric mid sentence. “What’s so funny?”

“Your accent,” Jack says softly, resting a tentative hand on Eric’s stomach. “It’s so much stronger when you’re tired. It’s cute.”

Eric grabs the hand on his stomach and pulls until Jack’s arm is stretched across him, a comforting weight, and Jack’s head is resting on his shoulder. “Takes one to know one, Mr. Zimmermann. Now go to sleep.”

Jack mumbles something in return but Eric is asleep before he can process the words.

* * *

Eric wakes up slowly, cocooned in warmth. Sunlight glows around the edges of the hotel room curtains, but the room is still pleasantly dim. The coaches had said they could sleep in, and Eric is seriously contemplating letting himself drift away again, when he wakes up enough to realize a few things.

The warmer spot on his chest is from Jack’s breath. The pleasant weight draped across his waist and legs are Jack’s arm and leg, respectively. And the hot, slightly sticky feeling against his hip is Jack’s cock, rock-hard between their bodies.

Eric lifts a hand and threads his fingers through Jack’s hair. “You awake?” he mumbles.

Jack nods, shifting a little. “Good morning,” he says quietly.

“I suppose I should thank my lucky stars that you didn’t wake me up at 5 am for a run,” Eric chirps gently, massaging Jack’s scalp with his fingertips. Jack presses back into the touch like a cat being petted and Eric has to hold back a giggle. He presses a little harder against Jack’s cock; Jack rewards him with a quiet moan. “Would you like some help with that, sweetheart?”

“I--” Jack cuts off, pressing his face into Eric’s shoulder.

Eric strokes his hair. “Honey, you can tell me what you want. How else am I gonna know to give it to you?”

Jack sucks in a breath, then two before lifting his head. “Can I blow you?” he asks softly, not making eye contact.

A shiver ripples through Eric’s body and he’s suddenly, achingly aware of his own erection. “Of course you can,” he says, rubbing soothingly up and down Jack’s arm. “I can’t imagine ever turning it down, to tell you the truth.”

The corners of Jack’s mouth tilt up and he slides down, taking the covers with him, until he’s lying on his stomach between Eric’s spread legs. He wraps his hand around Eric’s cock, stroking once, then again, before darting his tongue out to lick at the head.

Eric fists his hands in the sheet, resisting the urge to just take. “I thought you said you wanted to blow me, not practice your ice-cream cone technique.”

Jack’s cheeks have gone pink. He looks up at Eric from under his lashes and takes another slow, deliberate lick of Eric’s cock.

“Jack.” Eric does his best to make his voice stern, not to let it shake. “Quit teasing me, unless you want me to take matters into my own hands.”

When Jack licks his lips, he’s close enough that there’s the barest brush of tongue over Eric’s cock, a tantalizing tease. “Make me,” he says hoarsely.

Eric blinks, his thoughts molasses-slow. “Are you sure, sweetheart?”

“I’ll tap out if I need to,” Jack promises, his eyes downcast again. “I just--I want--”

“Okay,” Eric breathes lifting his hands and threading them through Jack’s hair, curling his fists until the tug of his fingers has Jack whimpering. “Okay.”

He takes a deep breath and uses his grip to guide Jack’s head down. His hips jerk up a little, instinctively, when Jack’s mouth closes over the head of his cock, hot and wet and so good. Eric thinks a little wildly that he could come like this, so easily. But this isn’t about him, he reminds himself fiercely, biting his lip and forcing arousal back down. This is about Jack. What Jack wants.

Eric takes it slow at first, only pushing Jack partway down his cock, moving slowly. Pretty soon, though, Jack is almost pulling his hair out trying to escape Eric’s grip and take him deeper. So Eric obliges him, dragging Jack’s head up and down, watching his cock disappear and reappear, Jack’s lips stretched wide around the shaft. It’s pornographic, it’s incredible. When Jack’s nose brushes the dark blond curls at the base of Eric’s cock, only an act of supreme willpower keeps Eric from coming on the spot.

“So good,” he babbles, letting his mouth run freely. “So good for me, honey, you feel so fucking good. Wish I could do this forever, keep you just like this--”

Jack moans, muffled and vibrating through Eric. He thrusts up, just a little, and Jack rewards him with another moan, so he does it again, using his hands to hold Jack’s head still.

“That what you want?” he gasps, his breathing ragged. “You want me to fuck your mouth, come in your mouth?”

This time, the moan is clearly an assent, Jack looking up to meet his eyes, his hands fisted in the sheets on either side of Eric’s hips.

“All right then.” Eric lets himself go, lets himself chase the orgasm hovering just out of his reach. It’s an embarrassingly small number of thrusts into Jack’s welcoming mouth before he comes, his hands tightening in Jack’s hair. He can feel, dimly, Jack’s mouth working around him, Jack’s throat moving as he swallows.

It quickly becomes too much, too sensitive, and Eric has to drag Jack’s head up and off before it’s actually painful.

“Good,” he gasps, doing his best to catch his breath. “Gimme a minute, honey, and I’ll take care of you.”

Something about the silence makes him open his eyes. He looks down at Jack, whose entire face is pink and relaxed as he studiously avoids Eric’s eyes.

“Jack?”

“Ialreadycame,” Jack mutters under his breath.

Eric blinks at him; he really shouldn’t be this slow, but it’s not like he’s had any coffee yet. “Really?”

Jack blushes darker. “Yeah. I--uh--I liked it.”

“Well.” Eric says. He can’t really think of anything else to say to that. “Good. I, ah, I guess we should probably shower and get some breakfast.”

“In a minute,” Jack agrees, crawling up the bed. He hesitates, just for a second, his eyes intent on Eric’s, before cuddling in close, his head pillowed on Eric’s shoulder.

Eric rubs his hand up and down Jack’s back and lets himself pretend, just for a minute, that this is something he could have. “In a minute,” he agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, updates will be irregular because of who I am as a person. I appreciate each and every one of you for your patience, more than you could know!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack just wants to get away. Takes place post [3.14 - Last Game](http://checkpleasecomic.com/comic/02-14-01)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, y'all, this gets kind of heavy, given the context of SMH losing the playoffs and how Jack gets down on himself. Warnings for negative self-talk, crying during sex, Jack Zimmermann being his anxious, extra self, and probably more stuff that I forgot about. *sets out tissues in advance*

It takes everything Jack has to make it through the handshake line, blindly reaching for hand after hand, muttering “good game” so often the words lose all meaning, becoming just a series of sounds. As captain, he’s the first one through. The first one that can skate off the ice, so he digs his blades in like he can outrun the disappointed, frustrated longing of his team. But no matter how fast he goes, he can’t outrun the anger and sadness that follows him like a cloud.

He dumps his skates and jersey in his stall, undressing mechanically, but then the itch under his skin drives him out again, slipping through the back halls of the arena until he finds the loading dock. It’s quiet here, deserted. Here he doesn’t have to be the captain, he doesn’t have to tell his team they did a good job--they did, they did, they deserve so much better than this, they deserve everything. Here he doesn’t have to look at their faces and know they’re thinking about how a real captain would have led them to victory, would have been more, been better. Here he can break down, can bury his face in his hands and let the tears come when he can’t hold them back any longer.

There’s no telling how long he’s been sitting there when he hears the noise behind him. He doesn’t want to turn, to look, to see who’s there. He wants them to go away, to leave him here with the salt of failure stinging his lips.

But he does turn--better to face it, whatever it is, he might be a failure, but he’s not a coward--and sees Eric standing there, eyes wide, hand to his chest.  _ This is it, _ is all Jack can think numbly. This is when Eric really sees how broken he is, when he cuts his losses and turns away. The end was always coming; Jack knew he was on borrowed time, knew he couldn’t bask in Eric’s warmth and sweetness forever. But somehow he never saw it ending like this.

He’s so busy with his thoughts that he doesn’t even see Eric move. One minute they’re staring at each other, several feet of space between them, and the next Eric is sitting next to him, wrapping his arms around Jack, pulling him in. 

A sob catches in Jack’s throat, raw and ugly, and Eric’s hand strokes soothingly through his hair. 

“Go ahead, honey,” he murmurs, his voice barely loud enough to reach Jack’s ears. “Let it out. It’s just gonna hurt you if you hold onto it. Let go.”

Jack isn’t sure he could hold back if he tried, not with the comfort of Eric’s arms around him, Eric’s voice in his ear, Eric’s body pressed against him. His body knows that Eric means safety, comfort, and he’s not strong enough to reject that. Not today.

So he does as he’s told, because that’s all he has to do. Lets the tears flow, lets his hurt and disappointment and anger out here, where they can’t shatter into sharp-edged words that can cut someone open. He doesn’t have to be strong here; doesn’t have to be the captain.

Eric’s got him.

* * *

By the time they make it onto the bus, Jack is not calm, exactly. The raging maelstrom of emotions from earlier is gone, and now he feels--empty. Hollowed out, wrung dry, like he might float away in the breeze, with only Eric’s hand on his leg to keep him grounded as they drive north through the night. It’s late, and he’s tired, so he thinks he might sleep, but sleep never comes.

They arrive at Samwell so late at night that it’s early, dawn just a few hours away. The team disperses without much fanfare, scattering toward their dorms, with the small Haus contingent trudging together through the cold, crisp winter night, heading toward home. 

Jack lags a little behind the rest of them; he doesn’t think he could handle Shitty’s brand of reassurance, or Ransom and Holster’s reassurances. Not without shattering into a million pieces. But when Eric slows his steps to match, bumps his shoulder into Jack’s more than could be explained by accident, it’s a comfort. 

The others have disappeared up the stairs by the time the front door of the Haus closes behind them. Jack follows Eric up them in turn, step by weary step, his body moving on autopilot around the turn at the top of the staircase, down the short hall toward their rooms. 

When Eric turns toward his own room, Jack’s hand shoots out without conscious thought, landing on Eric’s shoulder before he realizes he’s moved. 

Eric looks back over his shoulder questioningly, his eyes heavy and almost bruised with exhaustion. The words die in Jack’s throat. 

He’s not the only one who lost this game. Eric did, too, Eric has pushed himself so hard this season, has been there every time Jack asked, every time anyone needed him. Jack should let go, uncurl his fingers and wish Eric a good night. Jack should be strong enough,  _ better enough _ , to deal with this on his own--

“Jack?” Eric’s voice drops to a bare whisper. “Honey, it’s okay. What is it?”

Jack has to swallow twice, three times before he can speak. A part of him still insists that he shouldn’t--but Eric is standing there, his eyes soft and open, and Eric has never lied to him. “Can you--would you--” Jack swallows again, tensing his muscles against the shivers threatening to wrack his body. 

“I don’t want to be alone,” he admits, dropping his eyes. He doesn’t think he could handle it, seeing Eric’s eyes turn scornful or pitying. Or weary, because Jack is another burden for him to bear.

Eric’s hand slips into Jack’s, pulling him out of his spiraling inner monologue.”Me either,” he says simply, pushing Jack’s door open. “Let’s get some sleep, huh?”

It sounds impossible. There’s no way it could be that easy. But no sooner are they tucked into Jack’s bed, Eric’s arm wrapped tight around him, than he’s doing just that, slipping from consciousness like setting down a weight he hadn’t realized he was carrying.

* * *

Jack wakes up slowly, still groggy despite the light streaming in through the gap in his curtains. Adrenaline floods his body--how is it this late, how did he oversleep, is practice already over--before it all comes flooding back. The loss, his breakdown, the ride home, his neediness--

Eric’s arm tightens around Jack’s waist, pulling him just a little out of his panic. “C’n hear you thinkin’,” Eric mutters, his lips brushing Jack’s shoulder distractingly with each word. “Timezit?“

“I don’t know,” Jack whispers back. “Go back to sleep. I’m going to…”

He trails off. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do. Sit in the bathroom, probably, curled up around himself to stop the shaking. Except then Shitty will probably come in--

“Hey,” Eric whisper, lifting his head. His hair is a mess, as usual in the morning. “Do you want me to go?”

Jack shakes his head, so violently that he feels a little dizzy. “No! No, I just--”

Eric tsks at him, sleepy eyes sharpening. “You’re just gonna start blaming yourself for literally everything. You listen to me, Jack Zimmermann.” Two warm, strong hands frame Jack’s face, tilting it up until he has to meet Eric’s gaze. “Are you listening?”

There’s just enough range of motion for Jack to nod.

“We. Are. A. Team.” Eric’s eyes are piercing in their intensity. “Is it Shitty’s fault that we lost? Or Holster’s or Ransom’s? Or Chowder’s? Or mine?”

“No!” The denial is instant.

Eric shakes Jack gently. “Exactly. We did our best. Sometimes that’s not good enough, and that sucks. But this is Not. Your. Fault.”

“Euh.” Jack wants to believe, wants it so hard something is aching in his chest. But he can’t quite let himself, can’t get past that voice in his mind, whispering  _ your fault your fuckup you you you. _

“On your stomach,” Eric orders. His tone leaves no room for disobedience; Jack is lying on his stomach before he consciously realize that he’s moved. A comforting hand smoothes down his back. “Good boy. Stay there for me.”

A shiver races down Jack’s spine. He doesn’t know that he’ll ever be able to not react to those words, the way Eric’s voice wraps around them like a caress. Like he really thinks Jack is good.

He closes his eyes and does his best to take deep breaths, to ignore the way his cock has started to fill, trapped between his body and the mattress. He’s acutely aware of his other senses, the soft sound of Eric’s feet against the floorboards, muted when he crosses the rug. The metallic snick of locks being turned, the quiet roll of a drawer opening and closing, the shift of the bed as Eric climbs back up.

“Right,” Eric says decisively, nudging Jack’s legs further apart so he can--probably kneel between them. Jack isn’t sure, but Eric hasn’t said he could move, could look. Warm fingers tug at the waistband of Jack’s boxers, pulling them down over his ass. “Lift your hips for me, honey, that’s it.”

The boxers slide down his legs, make a soft thump as they land on the floor. The mattress shifts again, and yes, Eric’s legs brush against the inside of Jack’s as he settles between them. Eric’s hands, wide palms and dextrous fingers, stroke firmly up Jack’s back to his shoulders, down Jack’s arms.

All of the breath whooshes out of Jack in a rush when Eric’s weight lands on top of him, his body draped over Jack’s, his mouth on the back of Jack’s neck. “I want you to try to stay still for me, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good. You should always feel good.”

Jack doesn’t realize he’s shaking his head until Eric’s hand in his hair stills him. He shouldn’t--he doesn’t get to feel good. Not after failing like he did. This misery, the sick whirl in his gut, this is his penance. What he deserves.

“None of that,” Eric commands, his voice firm under the soft warmth. “Who’s in charge here, Jack?”

“You are.” 

The hand in his hair tugs a little, making him turn his head to look back over his shoulder. “That’s right. You’re gonna let me do what I want, right, honey?”

“Yes.” The word falls from Jack’s lips of its own volition. But it’s true, he realizes as he meets Eric’s eyes. He trusts Eric, enough to put himself completely in Eric’s hands. He says it again, just so Eric knows. “Yes.”

“Good,” Eric says firmly. He pushes Jack’s head gently back down onto the pillow. “Right now I want you to lie there and let me make you feel good.”

Then Eric’s mouth is on him, covering his shoulders with soft, open-mouthed kisses, the occasional flash of tongue and hint of teeth sending heat dancing over Jack’s skin. He moves slowly, inexorably downward, not stopping until his hands are on Jack’s hips. “What do you do if you need me to stop, sweetheart?”

Jack can’t imagine a world in which he’d want Eric to stop, but he taps the mattress next to his pillow obediently. He doesn’t even have to think about it at this point, the response just as ingrained as the shiver when Eric murmurs “Good boy,” his lips brushing over Jack’s buttocks.

And then Eric’s hands are spreading him wide, a warm, wet tongue licking over his hole, soft kisses, long licks, little thrusts. Jack has to turn his face into his pillow to muffle the noises that keep trying to escape. He’s trying to keep still, really he is, he wants to be good for Eric, to do what Eric told him, but his hips keep moving of their own accord, thrusting back to get more, more.

A slick fingertip nudges its way in alongside Eric’s tongue, overwhelming and incredible. It’s not enough to make him come, but it’s enough to push him into a new headspace, where the only thing left is sensation. The feeling of Eric’s fingers working him open, Eric’s tongue leaving him slick and wet, Eric’s shoulders forcing his thighs wider. The friction of the sheet against his cock, enough for a tease, but not enough to come, not yet.

He has no idea how long it takes before Eric pulls his fingers free with a wet, obscene noise, before the familiar rip of the condom packet. He’s expecting the pressure of Eric’s cock, but nothing happens at first.

“Turn over for me, honey,” Eric orders and Jack goes, obeying without thought. He lifts his hips at Eric’s urging, letting him slip a pillow underneath. Then Eric is there, urging Jack’s legs apart, lining himself up and pressing inside in a slow, smooth thrust. 

Jack throws his head back on the pillow, eyes closed, and breathes, his hands flexing at his sides. He’s surrounded by Eric, by the warmth of his body and the hard length of his cock, nerves lighting up with each long, slick movement. It makes Jack feel--fragile, almost, like he could shatter into a thousand pieces at any moment. 

“Fuck,” Eric groans above him, his fingers flexing against Jack’s chest.

It takes a monumental effort to force his eyes back open, but Jack does it. He needs to see Eric, to know he’s not alone. That he’s safe, that if he breaks, it’s okay.

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” Eric gasps, fucking Jack with slow, forceful strokes, his eyes intent on Jack’s face. “You always do, you’re always just perfect for me. You--are you--do you need me to stop?”

“No,” Jack says, suddenly frantic at the idea. No, he doesn’t want Eric to stop, to leave him cold and alone, or--or-- “No, don’t, please, Eric, don’t stop, I can--”

Eric’s hands are cupping his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks, over the...why is his face wet? “Honey, you’re crying. You can tell me, you can always tell me if you need to stop, please, I don’t want to hurt you--”

Jack shakes his head, squeezing his eyes tightly closed. “I--I’m--I don’t need to stop. I don’t know why--I don’t want to stop. Please. Stay.”

“I can stay, even if we aren’t--” Eric shifts backward, pulling out a little, and Jack clutches at him with desperate hands, wrapping his legs around for good measure.

“Please,” Jack says again, doing his best to swallow down the panic, to let Eric know that he wants--he needs this. “Please. If we stop, I--I’ll--”

He stutters to a halt, suddenly cold all over. Even as hazy as he is right now, he knows it’s a dick move to use his emotional state to coerce Eric into continuing. He has to--he has to let go, he has to let go--

Eric leans down before he can force himself to loosen his grip, pressing his chest to Jack’s, the warmth of his skin loosening a little of the tightness around Jack’s heart. “It’s okay, Jack. I’m not going. But you have to promise me-- _ promise me-- _ that you’ll tell me if you’re not okay. I won’t leave, I promise, I’ll stay as long as you need me. But if I hurt you--I couldn’t--I can’t--”

Jack swallows hard. “No, you didn’t--I don’t know why I’m crying. I didn’t even know I was, until you said? Just--I don’t know. Just, please, stay with me, stay in me, I’ll stop--”

“Breathe, honey,” Eric orders. “Breathe with me, okay? In and out, nice deep breaths.”

With Eric’s chest on top of Jack’s it’s easier to follow him, to sync their breathing until Jack feels less like his heart is going to rabbit out of his chest.

“There you go,” Eric says approvingly after a few moments. “Good job. Can you tell me what you need now?”

Jack opens his mouth, closes it again. But this, this surely has to be the final straw. Eric isn’t leaving now, because he’s a kind, caring person, but the chances of them doing this again can’t be good. If this is going to be the last time--if he never gets to have this again--surely he can be brave enough to ask for what he wants. Just once.

“Would you--if you want--it’s okay if you don’t--” he squeezes his eyes closed, takes a deep breath, but his voice still comes out soft and needy. “Could you kiss me?”

He hears Eric suck in a surprised breath, he’s on the verge of taking it back, but then Eric’s mouth is on his, soft and warm and tender. It’s so much more than Jack deserves, this care, but he’s too selfish to say so, to pull back and break it. 

He kisses back, hesitantly at first, moaning a little in his throat when Eric’s tongue licks into his mouth. They kiss and they kiss and they kiss, deep and wet and filthy and amazing. He hadn’t realized Eric had gone soft inside him until he hardens again, rolling his hips to fuck into Jack with little rolling thrusts. 

Jack’s back is starting to ache, just a little, from the angle that allows Eric to fuck him and kiss him at the same time, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’d only thought he was surrounded before; now Eric’s weight pins him to the bed, Eric’s tongue exploring every inch of his mouth, Eric’s hands tilting his head to just the right angle. 

Before long Jack is shuddering with each thrust, his cock trapped between them and aching from the slow, inexorable friction. Eric doesn’t stop kissing him, though, swallows down his moans and grinds into him with each stroke until Jack comes, wet and hot and messy between them. Kisses him when his thrusts get urgent and sloppy, kisses him when he groans and goes still inside Jack. Kisses him after, soft and slow and sweet.

The kisses don’t stop afterward, either, gentle pecks and soft brushes of lips as Eric herds him into the shower, cleans him off with careful hands. Eric’s mouth pressing against his cheekbone, his jaw, his collarbone. He can’t help feeling bereft when Eric steers him into the desk chair and strips the bed off efficiently, remaking it with clean sheets, but then Eric is tucking him back in with more kisses. 

“It’s barely nine,” Eric murmurs, settling behind Jack, curling their bodies together, pressing his lips to the back of Jack’s neck. “And it’s Sunday. Let’s get some more sleep, huh?”

Jack murmurs an assent, already halfway to sleep. There’s something nagging at the back of his mind, but with Eric’s arm wrapped around him, it’s surprisingly easy to push it away and drift off.

When he wakes up, he’s alone. 

When Eric catches him pressing his fingers to his mouth, his eyes skitter away, and Jack can’t escape the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. No amount of telling himself that he should have expected this, that he knew this was coming, helps ease the sense of loss. Of knowing that Eric kissed him because he asked, because Jack needed it. That Eric didn’t need it.

Eventually, though, he calms down enough to realize he hasn’t lost everything. He still has sitting at the kitchen table while Eric bakes, studying together for their class, movie nights and Mario Kart marathons. He still has Eric’s friendship, and that’s enough. 

More than enough.

More than he deserves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ducks and covers* I'm sorry, I'm sorry. This is...not where I expected this chapter to go, but sometimes what comes out on the page is not what you expect. If it helps, we are getting closer to these idiots finding a resolution. Much closer.
> 
> As always, feel free to [follow me on Tumblr](http://dizzy-redhead.tumblr.com) for a random mess of content only curated by my surprisingly organized tags :D


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric's birthday surprise is not what he was expecting
> 
> Takes place partway through the events of [2.16 Kiss the Ice](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/139802558492)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the dialogue and a lot of the events in this chapter are lifted from [Bitty's tweets](http://checkpleasecomic.com/tweets) and one of the [extras](http://checkpleasecomic.com/extras-blog/159). So obviously all of that is Ngozi's and I'm just building castles in her sandbox.

“Hey, y’all. Long time no vlog--”

Eric does his best to maintain his usual vlogging demeanor, chattering away about everything from Ransom and Holster’s astonishing co-captaincy to Shitty’s even more astonishing decision to finally chop off his flow. He can hear his voice changing, though, at even an oblique mention to Jack, and he has to stop the recording and take a moment to breathe. 

After a couple more failed takes, he gives up for the night. Tomorrow’s his birthday, he can take a day off of vlogging--and to be honest, he probably should, if only to get some more cramming in before his finals.

What actually happens, as usual, is that he ends up in the kitchen, because when he tries to study, or sleep, or do  anything other than cook, his mind immediately strays to Jack.

Jack under him, face wet with tears. Jack, asking for a kiss, like Eric wouldn’t want to, like Eric hasn’t wanted to for weeks--months. Jack, soft and pliant and asleep in his arms, so sweet that it took every ounce of willpower for Eric to pull himself away.

But he did pull himself away, aching with regret ever since, but not reaching out to Jack, not taking it back. Because this--this has to stop. Eric has always felt a little guilty about what they’ve been doing, that he’s taking advantage of Jack, of Jack’s needs, when Jack could have anyone he wants. He’d told himself that Jack had started it, that at least Jack was getting what he needed with someone who wouldn’t betray his trust, wouldn’t go running to the tabloids and out him without his permission. 

Half-truths and selfish justifications that piled up until now, when Eric suffocates under the weight of them. Until he he can’t take it anymore, the false intimacy of the sex, the little rush he gets when Jack gives up control to him so easily, curls his body into Eric’s so sweetly. Because it’s so much, it’s so close to what he actually wants--

But it’s not. It’s not real. Graduation is coming, in less than a month, and Jack will be gone. Probably just to Providence, but forty miles feels like a thousand compared to right now, waking up in his bed and knowing Jack’s only a few feet away. Knowing that if things were different--

Eric’s hands itch to bake, but poor Betsy is still out of order, wildly variable in a way that makes baking impossible. So he makes do with his thrift-store crock-pot and as many icebox pies as he can fit into the crammed-full fridge. By the time he runs out of pie plates or other containers, two a.m. has come and gone, his eyes feel gritty, and his fingers are sore from patting crumb crusts into place and hand-whipping cream fillings.

_ Happy birthday to me _ , he thinks bitterly as he collapses into his bed.

* * *

By the time Chowder, Farmer, and Nursey finally give in and take him back toward the Haus, Eric is over it. He’s going to try to be pleasant, because everyone is so excited about their “surprise” exchanging smug grins when they think he isn’t looking. But he’s exhausted, mentally and physically, a little heartsick, and quite frankly tired of himself for his moping. Hopefully whatever they have planned will be quick. He can smile and act surprised and, as soon as everyone is convinced, escape to his room, away from all of these well-meaning eyes.

He’s so occupied with his thoughts and, honestly, feeling a little bitchy, that when Farmer says, “Okay, Bitty, you get one more tweet,” he taps out almost exactly that and hits the little arrow. The next thing he knows, Nursey has deftly slipped the phone out of his hands like he does that kind of thing all the time, like he didn’t once trip over  _ air _ .

“Chill,” Nursey says, tapping away at the screen and effortlessly holding the phone up out of Eric’s reach.

“Derek Malik Nurse, if you don’t give that phone back right this instant--” Eric starts, but his usual threat of no pie for a month would fall flat, because they aren’t even going to be at Samwell for another month. The lump in his throat cuts off any further words until he swallows. “What are you doing?”

Nursey just grins at him, thumbs flying over the screen. “Strict captains’ orders. I’m supposed to live-tweet the next bit.”

“I knew y’all were up to something,” Eric mutters, stalking toward the Haus. The sooner this is over, the sooner he can get his phone back. “Don’t you wreck my reputation, Nursey.”

They’re in the Haus yard when a hand on his shoulder swings Eric around, Nursey with the phone aimed at his face. “Smile, B,” he coaxes. “All your Twitter followers are real cool and excited, they want to see you.”

The smile feels small and false, but apparently it’s good enough for a reprieve. Eric can’t even bring himself to care about what kind of unflattering shot was posted to his Twitter; he’ll just delete it later. He pulls away as gently as he can, up the steps to the porch with his three shadows trailing behind him.

The Haus is crowded, everyone turned towards him, and Eric’s trying, he really is, but he can’t help rolling his eyes a little. “ K, y'all The whole team's here and I haven't baked anything. It's a surprise party. I get it. Aren’t y’all gonna yell surprise?"

The grins on all the faces he can see get bigger, and then Chowder and Farmer each take an arm, steering him toward the kitchen as the crowd parts to make way. The kitchen is full, too, streamers dangling from the ceiling, Dex and Jack and Shitty and Lardo and Ransom and Holster all grinning like loons.

Eric is on the verge of saying something he can’t come back from when--finally--everyone yells “Surprise” as they move aside, Ransom and Holster making matching Vanna-White-style gestures toward Betsy--

\--no--

\--not Betsy--

\--a new stove, clean and white, chrome oven handle shining where poor Betsy’s had broken off in his hand a month ago, flat induction cooktop that probably wipes down in like, a minute nothing--

“I can’t believe y’all--” His voice is higher than he wants, clogged with tears, but Eric can’t stop it, even when he presses a hand to his mouth, words spilling out of their own volition. “How’d y’all--when did y’all--what’d y’all do with--”

He can’t manage to get out a full sentence before Holster is sweeping him up in a hug so powerful that his feet actually leave the ground. “Happy birthday, Bits,” Holster booms, then drops his voice. “It was Jack’s idea.”

That--that’s the last straw. Eric can’t stop the tears, but no one seems to mind. He’s passed gently from one teammate--one friend--to another, hugs and backslaps and fistbumps and that’s enough to keep the tears welling up. When he’d made the decision to come to Samwell, he’d expected to be at the fringes of the team, honestly, just grateful for the scholarship and the chance to do something he was good at. 

He hadn’t expected this team. He hadn’t expected Ransom and Holster’s unwavering support and cheerleading, Shitty’s frequent nudity and his fierce loyalty, Lardo’s bright energy and enthusiasm. And he definitely hadn’t expected Jack. Jack, who took the time to coach him through his fear even before they were friends. Jack, who brings him sugary coffee in the mornings even though he thinks it’s ridiculous. Jack, who is standing in front of him with a small, pleased smile.

Eric opens his mouth, but what does he say? What can he say? Going from thinking Jack forgot his birthday, to this--he’d have known even without Holster telling him that Jack had to be behind it--wait.

He narrows his eyes at Jack, who looks suitably alarmed. “I thought you forgot my birthday.” He tries to make his voice stern, but he can’t maintain the matching facial expression for more than a few seconds.

Jack ducks his head a little, his shoulders relaxing when he sees Eric’s smile, his cheeks flushing that adorable pink. “Eh, sorry about that. It all turned into more of a production than I was expecting once everyone got involved. But you like it, right?”

“I love it--” Eric swallows hard, but the tears are welling up again despite his best efforts. He tries, he tries to blink them back, but the next thing he knows, Jack’s hands are warm and solid on his back, pulling him gently closer. 

Jack’s camera digs into his stomach a little, Jack’s t-shirt dampens under his face, and they’re in the middle of a crowded room that’s rapidly turning into a mini-kegster, but Eric can’t make himself pull away. It feels so good, so right. 

“Everything okay?” Shitty asks, his hand landing on Jack’s shoulder. “Bits?”

Jack chuckles, his hands rubbing circles on Eric’s shoulders. “Bittle thinks I forgot his birthday.”

“Psht,” Shitty snorts dismissively. “As if, brah. You know what this beautiful motherfucker here--”

There must be a look exchanged over Eric’s head, because Shitty subsides with a mutter about tub juice, making his way through the crowded room. 

“Oh, Lord,” Eric mutters, wiping his eyes. “I must look a mess. What am I doing? I need to bake something right this second.”

“Stop crying first,” Jack chirps gently, but he lets Eric go when he pulls away. It feels like his hands linger, releasing him only reluctantly, but that’s probably just wishful thinking. Jack is his friend. That’s enough. More than enough.

It has to be.

“All right,” Eric declares, stepping back. “Anybody who gets in my way before this first pie comes out is not goin’ to eat any!”

The kitchen clears with near-magical speed, leaving Eric and Jack standing there. Dex hesitates by the door like he’s going to offer his help, but Nursey and Chowder tug him away, chattering a mile a minute.

For a minute, Eric thinks that Jack is going to slip out as well, up the stairs to his room like he usually does during a kegster. Instead, he grins tentatively instead, taking a step closer until they’re standing side by side in front of the new stove.

“Want some help?” Jack offers, bumping his shoulder gently into Eric’s. “As long as it’s not a lattice, I can try.”

Eric should say no. His heart is still so battered, so raw, and spending time with Jack can’t possibly help with that. He should politely shoo Jack out of the kitchen and do what he does best, channel his feelings into baking until he can smile and act like he hasn’t been stupid enough to fall in love with his friend.

He should say no. But Eric has never been very good at denying himself the things he wants, and Jack will be gone so soon. So he smiles up at Jack and hands him the spare apron and pretends that his heart doesn’t skip a beat every time Jack looks at him through his lashes. That he doesn’t notice the way Jack’s pupils dilate when Eric tells him what to do.

It’s the first time Eric has wished a pie would bake faster.

* * *

Even though it’s his birthday, it’s also finals week, so the kegster stays surprisingly restrained, hardly even worthy of the name. Eric finds himself climbing the stairs just after midnight, the frogs having convinced him that they were sober and trustworthy enough to clean up the first layer of detritus--”You can’t clean on your  _ birthday, _ Bitty,” Chowder had said earnestly, taking the broom and dustpan away and pushing him gently toward the stairs.

As Shitty had predicted on that very first Haus tour, Eric’s pretty sure at this point he could navigate the Haus blind drunk  _ and _ blindfolded, let alone with the slight warmth still buzzing through his body. Although his eyes do keep trying to slip closed, but that’s probably just the sleep deprivation finally catching up with him. 

He rounds the corner into the hall, finds himself knocking on Jack’s door instead of opening his own. Of course, once he has, there’s plenty of time to regret his choices. Maybe Jack was asleep. Maybe he disappeared up to his room because he was tired of Eric’s company. Maybe the way they’ve retreated into friendship is Jack’s way of letting him down easy and he’s just too stupid to take the out--

The door swings open before Eric can spiral any further. Jack looks--God, he looks soft and touchable, in his t-shirt and sweats, his hair rumpled and falling over his forehead, a smudge of flour still on his cheek.

“I wanted to thank you,” Eric says, quietly. This isn’t a moment for loudness. “I know the oven was your idea, and I know you probably paid for most of the darn thing. Just. Thank you.”

Jack ducks his head, mumbling a protest, and Eric lifts up on his toes. He plans for it to be a kiss on the cheek, or that’s what he tells himself. Somehow his mouth ends up brushing over the corner of Jack’s lips, coming back to kiss him more squarely. Jack’s hands land on his shoulders, warm and solid, Jack’s mouth softens under his. For one endless moment it’s perfect and Eric’s heart feels like it might beat out of his chest.

But then Jack lifts his head, his hands gently moving Eric backward and taking a step back himself. “You’re welcome,” he says, his voice barely audible. “You should go to bed. It’s late.”

He closes the door between them before Eric can respond, and well, that’s a pretty unequivocal signal. Eric turns away and opens his own door with a sigh, kicks off his shoes and falls into bed without bothering to undress. 

* * *

The light filtering through his eyelids wakes Eric much, much too early. He has a moment of panic--is there practice, it’s Wednesday, he has an early class--before he remembers that it’s finals week and sags back into bed, adrenaline slowly subsiding.

Of course, that’s when the memory of last night comes back in vivid, mortifying detail. The way he pushed himself on Jack, the way Jack gently disentangled himself, the door shutting in his face. Eric rolls over, burying his face in the pillow, and screams. And maybe cries a little, but Señor Bun won’t tell.

When he’s finished, hollowed out and wrung dry, he rolls to his back, wiping his eyes, and lets go of the last little shred of hope he hadn’t realized he was clinging to. It doesn’t matter, really, why Jack decided it was time to cut things off. What matters is that Eric needs to respect that decision, not try to push himself on Jack. He needs to remember that they’re friends. Honestly, that friendship is something he never would have expected during his tumultuous freshman year, and it means so much. It’s so much. It’s enough.

It has to be.

“Happy birthday to me,” Eric mutters.

He allows himself two more minutes to wallow before pushing to his feet. He’s got a brand-new oven downstairs and pies don’t bake themselves. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting closer, y'all! Bear with me a little longer! Just two more chapters to go.
> 
> As always, you're welcome to [come find me on Tumblr](http://dizzy-redhead.tumblr.com) if you need to yell at me about dumb hockey boys.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack follows his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during and after [2.17 Graduation](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/139922070346), [2.18 Goodbye for the Summer, Part I](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/140039789437), and [Goodbye for the Summer, Part II](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/140054689882). With inspiration taken from [this extra](http://checkpleasecomic.com/extras-blog/212)

Jack stares at the ties in his hands like they might come to life and attack him at any moment. He has no idea why this is such a difficult decision. It’s far from the first time he’s had to get dressed up-- _ crisse, _ it’s not even the first time at Samwell, between the end-of-year banquets and Winter Screw and the times his mother has made him serve as her escort to some alumni event. 

But for some reason, something as simple as choosing between a blue or red tie is beyond him at the moment. He looks around, searching for inspiration or some kind of sign, and his eyes fall on Eric’s open door.

His feet must carry him there of their own accord, because before he knows it, he’s standing in that doorway, still holding the ties. “Bittle, uh--”

Eric somehow manages to both jump out of his seat and swivel around in his desk chair at the same time, eyes wide and startled. 

At that moment, Jack wishes he’d been just a little braver. That he hadn’t let Eric retreat into friendship, that he’d crammed his days at Samwell with as much touching, as much  _ Eric _ as he could fit in. But his parents have already texted to say that they’re 10 minutes from the Haus, driving in with George to give them time for a not-so-subtle parental interrogation. So as much as Jack wants to drop to his knees, to beg Eric for one last time--he can’t.

“Could you help me pick out a tie?” is what he actually says. It sounds weak to his ears, but Eric’s face softens, his lower lip trembling for just a minute before he sucks in a breath, crossing the room to take the ties from Jack’s hands, hold them up to his shirt.

“Oh, the blue,” he says decisively, handing it back. “It’ll bring out--” He bites his lip. “It’ll look good.”

Jack loops the tie around his neck, flipping his collar up, but his fingers are clumsy on the silk, and the knot keeps coming loose. After a few minutes, Eric tsks at him and bats his hands out of the way, knotting the fabric with a few deft motions. He slides the completed knot gently up until it rests against Jack’s throat, smoothing down the collar and the ends of the tie. 

The beat of Jack’s heart in his ears is so loud he can’t tell if he’s imagining Eric’s hands lingering on him or not. But then Eric is stepping back, taking his warmth with him, leaving Jack cold again. 

“There,” he says, a bright, false smile on his face, and when did Jack learn which of Eric’s smiles were real? “All presentable.”

Jack opens his mouth to say--something, he doesn’t know what, but then a booming knock echoes up from downstairs, followed by Holster yelling “Jack! Your parents are here!”

“Better go,” Eric says softly.

“You’re still walking over with us, aren’t you?” Jack asks, doing his best to make his voice sound normal. 

Eric shoos him out the door, hands waving without ever actually touching him. “Yes, yes. Just gotta take care of something and I’ll be right down. Go say hello to your folks.”

The door closing behind Jack feels like an ending, and he heads downstairs with a heavy feeling weighing him down, because that’s what today is. All the speakers at the graduation ceremony will talk about how “commencement” means “beginning,” but what they won’t say is that nothing can begin without something else ending.

* * *

Jack can’t help the way his heart leaps when he sees Eric, tapping away on his phone, still standing near his mom and George, but he makes his voice as light as he can. “You’re still hanging around? Or didn’t we post enough ‘selfies’?”

“Oh! Jack!” He’s rarely seen Eric this flustered, and part of him soaks it in. “Uh, well, Lardo’s off to lunch with the Knights, and Holster already packed up his car for the trip up with Rans. I guess I was hanging out because. Well. I--I’ve--”

When he stays silent for a few more minutes, Jack does his best to help the conversational thread along. To keep Eric there, although of course he can’t for much longer. “You’re heading out soon, aren’t you?” 

For some reason that makes Eric look crestfallen. “Oh, I was just about to go back to the Haus before my airport shuttle leaves--but y’all look ready to go?”

Jack barely resists the urge to reach out, to smooth the worry out of Eric’s eyebrows. What were they talking about? Oh. “My mom has a small alum thing first, yeah. Then my parents and George made reservations. And then right down to Providence.” He bites back the invitation that springs to his lips, for Eric to come with them. Eric is leaving, he doesn’t have time--

“Oh well. I guess that’s it, isn’t it?”

Eric bites his lip and Jack completely loses his train of thought, remembering the last time he had Eric’s mouth on his. He pulls himself forcibly out of that reverie--what had Eric been talking about? Oh. “Yeah,” he says finally. What else is there to say?

The next thing he knows, Eric is in his arms, clinging, face buried in Jack’s shoulder. “Bye, Jack,” he breathes, his voice small and muffled.

“Bye, Bittle,” Jack forces out, patting Eric on the back, doing his best to keep his voice level despite the ache in his chest. “It’s been great playing with you.”

Eric pulls back, his face tilted down so Jack can’t see his expression. “Jack, I--I--”

Jack waits, his heart in his throat suddenly, but Eric forces a little laugh, pulling back even further and straightening Jack’s already-straight tie. “I--I guess the next time I see you will be on TV, huh?” he says.

“What?” Jack can’t explain why that idea terrifies him, even though he always knew his time at Samwell had to end. Just--not yet. “Bittle, I’ll drive up before the season starts.”

“Oh, of course,” Eric says, and just like that, Jack can breathe again. He’s still welcome, he hasn’t lost this home. Not yet.

Eric steps back, completely out of Jack’s reach, his smile still not reaching his eyes. “Well, you get on outta here before you make me late for my flight,” he chirps.

“Hah,” Jack forces out, curling his hands into his graduation robe. “See you, Bittle.” 

When Eric walks away, it feels like a door closing in Jack’s face. It feels like he’s lost Eric.

* * *

“Ready to head back to the hotel?” Papa asks, holding Jack’s mortarboard in his hands.

“Yeah, almost,” Jack says absently, his fingers brushing over his tie. Over the ache in his chest. “I just, uh--I feel like--I haven’t really said goodbye to everyone.”

His father grins fondly at him. “Well it’s a bit too late to take another lap around the rink!” 

Jack can’t help but smile back in the face of his father’s chirping. “No--not that.”

Papa’s hand lands gently on his shoulder as he switches to Quebecois. “Ah. You know what your uncle always says. You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.”

“What do you mean?” Jack asks, because yes, he’s heard Uncle Wayne say that at  _ least _ a thousand times, but what does that have to do with right now--with him and Eric?

His father’s smile softens. “I mean  _ go say goodbye. _ You won’t be back here for some time, you know. If that’s what your heart is telling you, you should go. Go really say goodbye.”

“Oh,” Jack says softly, because all the different pieces of his heart seem to click into place, the picture there suddenly clear. He can’t leave. Not now. Not like this. Not without telling Eric--

“ _ Euh, j’reviens, _ ” he tosses over his shoulder. He doesn’t know if Papa hears him, but he’s already running, ignoring the stares of the people still scattered around, their heads turning as he passes. 

Following his heart.

* * *

Jack’s spent the past four years running every possible permutation of the paths and sidewalks around the Samwell campus, but he swears it’s never taken this long to get from Lake Quad to the Haus. He’s running as hard as he can in his dress slacks, the soles of his shoes occasionally skidding on the sidewalks as he goes. Force of habit has his breath coming in measured, even inhales and exhales, his heart pounding a familiar rhythm to match his feet as they hit the ground.

He rounds the corner onto Jason Street and does his best to accelerate, dodging around the stragglers loading their vehicles. A voice in his head tries to whisper that it’s too late, that Eric is gone already, but Jack forces a burst of speed, doing his best to silence it. After all this time, these days and months and years, it can’t end like this. Not without telling Eric, letting him know--

The front door to the Haus is unlocked, and the hope gives him a burst of energy as he rounds the corner and heads up the stairs at top speed. “Eric!” The name bursts out of him, impossible to contain.

He skids to a halt, his hand on the doorframe of Eric’s room--Eric’s empty room. Oh, it still has most of Eric’s things, the posters on the walls, but there’s no stuffed rabbit on his bed, no laptop and video camera on his desk. The scent of baked goods lingers, but it’s growing stale and old. Jack’s shoulders slump at the inescapable evidence, ice water flowing through his veins. He’s too late. 

Eric is gone.

Behind him, in his--Chowder’s--room, there’s a soft sniffle, a tear-choked voice sobs “Lord.” Jack turns, his heart in his throat. Eric is there, folding Chowder’s left-behind clothes, earbuds trailing from his ears. He’s singing, his voice cracked and wavering, but Jack can’t hear him over the hope rising in his chest as he crosses the room.

He sets a hand gently on Eric’s shoulder, but Eric still startles, yanking one earbud out as he turns. “Hello!” His voice is loud at first, probably because of the volume of the music that Jack can hear coming out of the fallen earbud. 

“Hello!” Eric says again, more softly, his eyes wide and questioning. “Jack? Oh my goodness! Why are--Is everything all right? You’re outta breath! You could have texted--”

“Eric,” Jack interrupts, stepping closer, his hands on Eric’s shoulders There’s so much he needs to say. He has no idea where to start, how to say--how to show Eric--

In the end, Jack will always be better with actions than words. He leans down, capturing Eric’s mouth with his, trying to pour everything he’s thinking, everything he’s feeling, into the kiss. He’s expecting surprise, prepared for Eric to pull away, but Eric just melts into the kiss. Jack cradles his jaw with one hand, tilting his head just so, his other hand on the small of Eric’s back, pulling him closer. 

He has to break away for a moment, just to convince himself that Eric is real, soft and warm in his arms. But just for a moment, and then he has to kiss him again, to coax his lips apart and lick gently into his mouth.

Jack has no idea how long they stay like that, mouths meeting and parting, before a buzzing vibration between them pulls him reluctantly away, forcing him to lift his head reluctantly.

“That’s--uh--” He loses his train of thought, looking at Eric, his eyes heavy-lidded, his mouth wet and red from kissing. His phone vibrates again, reminding him. “I should--”

“Oh,” Eric says softly, his hands still resting on Jack’s chest. 

The last thing Jack wants to do right now is look at his phone screen--no, the last thing he wants is to see the text message from his father telling him to meet them at the car in five minutes. He keeps staring at it, like he can force it to say something different through sheer willpower. “I gotta go,” he says finally, still trying to glare it into submission.

“Okay.” Eric won’t meet his eyes, sending a spike of panic through Jack. 

“I gotta go,” he repeats, his hands on Eric’s arms, waiting until Eric looks up, “but I’ll text you, okay?”

“Okay,” Eric repeats, his eyes full of questions.

Jack can’t help clinging to Eric’s hands as he steps back. He doesn’t want to let go, he doesn’t want to leave--

He steps forward at the same time Eric does, Eric surges up onto his toes as Jack leans down, their lips meeting, fast and hard and desperate, clinging to each other.

Finally Jack tears himself away, walking backwards to the door because he can’t stand not to see Eric. “I’ll text you,” he repeats. Eric has to know that this is a beginning, not an ending.

Eric nods. “Okay.” 

Jack allows himself one last, lingering look, doing his best to fix Eric in his memory before he turns down the hall toward the stairs.

* * *

“I’d ask how it went,” Papa says as Jack slides into the back seat of the car. “But from the smile on your face I’d say the answer is probably “pretty well,” eh?”

Jack ducks his head, his face heating, but he can’t force his mouth to stop smiling. 

“Leave him alone, Bobby,” his mother says mildly, but he can hear in her voice that she’s smiling, too. “Jack, you don’t have to go to dinner with us if you have somewhere better to be, you know.”

“No,” Jack unlocks his phone, opening his texting app. “I--it’s--no, it’s fine. Dinner is good. I just--I promised I’d text someone real quick.”

He’s overly conscious of George next to him, too conscious to say “he” or “Eric,” but even that can’t dampen his happiness. He double- and triple-checks that he’s in his private conversation with Eric before tapping out a message.  _ Hi. _

It’s unrealistic to expect Eric to text back right away; who knows what he’s doing right now? But Jack feels his smile widen when the response pops up almost immediately.  _ Hi _

_ I wanted to say--  _ Jack pauses, his thumbs hovering over the phone. There’s so much he wants to say to Eric, so much time wasted. He straightens his shoulders and takes a deep breath before he can spiral; he can’t change things in the past, but he can choose not to waste any more time. He deletes the words, types new ones.

_ When you come back in the fall, can I take you out on a date? _

This time the response takes a little more time. Jack watches the little animated dots rise and fall, does his best to remember to breathe.  _ Yes, of course, _ is the eventual answer, followed almost instantly by,  _ are you sure? _

Jack sags back into his seat. His thumbs feel clumsy as they move across the screen, too big and too slow for everything he wants to express.  _ I’m sure. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. _

_!!!!  _ comes through almost instantly, followed by,  _ of course i want to  _ with a little face that looks like it’s rolling it’s eyes. 

_ Then it’s a date,  _ Jack replies as fast as he can, receiving a string of smiling faces, hearts, and other incomprensible pictograms. After two years of interpreting Eric’s emoji reactions, he’s pretty sure it’s a positive response, but he has his reputation as a technophobe to maintain.  _ Is that good? _

Another eye-rolling emoji and one sticking its tongue out pop up on his screen.  _ don’t you chirp me, Jack Zimmermann. _

Jack can’t help smiling at the screen, picturing Eric curled up in a seat on the shuttle, phone in his hands. Something about the idea makes him want to be honest.  _ I wish I’d realized sooner. I wish we didn’t have to wait. _

_ me too,  _ Eric sends with another heart.  _ but we’ll talk and we’ll text. maybe i’ll teach you to use skype so i can see your handsome face. August’ll be here before you know it _

At this point, August feels like forever. Three months without seeing Eric, hearing his voice in person, touching him, is too long.  _ Maybe I could come see you,  _ Jack types, liking the idea the more he thinks about it.  _ If your parents are okay with it. _

That gets him another string of exclamation points and emojis.  _ of course! i’m sure they’d love to have you!!!!  _ Then the three dots show up again, then disappear, then show up, and disappear. Eric is either sending him an essay, or can’t quite make up his mind what to say. 

Finally--Jack spares a moment to be grateful that the graduation traffic is slowing them on their drive--another message pops up.  _ you know they don’t know. about me, i mean. we couldn’t date or anything while you’re here. if you still want to come i mean _

_ I want to see you.  _ Jack wishes he was better with this medium, that he knew another way to convey how much he means it. The words on the screen seem woefully inadequate, but they’re all he has right now.  _ That’s enough.  _

His reward is a picture of Eric, head leaned against a bus window, eyes a little bright like they were before he started crying at the sight of his oven, mouth curled up in a small, private smile just for Jack.

“Here we are,” Papa announces as the car comes to a stop, his voice breaking into Jack’s mental bubble and letting the real world come rushing in. 

Jack taps out a quick  _ At the restaurant-talk soon, _ and spares a few torturous minutes looking at the emojis on his phone. He almost closes out of it, but Eric had been brave. Eric was always brave. Jack adds the little pink heart, sends the text, and locks his phone, shoving it into his pocket.

Somehow the prospect of dinner with his parents and his assistant GM isn’t quite as terrifying when Eric is just a call or a text away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with it! I know the last few updates were kind of rough, but we got there!!! I'm going to do an epilogue chapter, because if you know me, you know I love a smutty epilogue, but then we're done. Thanks to everyone for sticking with me through the irregular updates and the emotional rollercoaster! I hope to get the epilogue written soon, but as those of you who [follow me on Tumblr](http://dizzy-redhead.tumblr.com) are aware, real life is kind of an emotionally draining shitshow right now. I appreciate your patience, always.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Eric have their first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, the smutty epilogue!!!

Eric leans back against the just-closed door, looking up at Jack from under his lashes. “I had a really nice time,” he murmurs, unable to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up, despite the anticipation bubbling in his stomach. 

Jack’s answering smile is beautiful, lighting up his whole face as he leans closer, the warmth of his body radiating across the narrow space between them. “Me, too.”

They stand in silence for a few minutes before Eric can’t take it anymore, forcing his face into a mock pout. “What, no good-night kiss? I thought you wanted this to be a proper date, Mister Zimmermann.”

“Sorry,” Jack breathes, leaning in the last few inches, his mouth pressing against Eric’s in the way that still feels so new, so different. Eric hopes he never takes it for granted, the soft touch of Jack’s lips against his.

All too soon, though, Jack is lifting his head, pulling back. He doesn’t get very far before Eric slides a hand around the back of his neck, reels him back in.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Eric says, rising up on his toes. “It’s been a month, Jack. I need a real kiss.” 

He pulls Jack down enough to bridge the space between them, licking into his mouth. They’d had to be so restrained at the airport, no kissing until they were inside Jack’s car. No holding hands at the restaurant, their only point of physical contact Eric’s foot hooked around Jack’s ankle, under the table where no one can see. 

But now--now they’re alone, in the safe haven of Jack’s apartment, and Eric can let go, let his hands roam over Jack’s chest, untucking his shirt-tails from the waistband of his slacks. Can explore Jack’s mouth with his tongue, chase the flavors of wine and dinner, the slight sweetness left from dessert. 

Eric tears his mouth free to suck in a breath, pressing his lips just under Jack’s jaw instead, his fingers busy on Jack’s shirt buttons. 

“I thought--” Jack’s voice breaks when Eric nips at his neck. “I thought you’d want to take things slow.”

“Honey, we’ve been taking it slow for the past two years,” Eric laughs, parting the sides of Jack’s shirt, getting his hands on all that warm skin and hard muscle. “Now that I’ve got you, I don’t want to waste a single minute.”

Jack’s body goes pliant under his hands in that way that Eric doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to. “Yeah,” he murmurs, leaning in to catch Eric’s lips in another soft kiss. “Me either.”

“Good,” Eric says once he’s got his breath back, as briskly as he can manage. “Think you can use that NHL muscle to carry me to the bedroom?”

Even though he asked for it, was expecting it, he still squeaks a little when Jack scoops him up. But he recovers quickly, pushing Jack’s shirt down off his shoulders and sucking Jack’s earlobe into his mouth, catching it between his teeth before soothing the sting with his tongue. 

“Oh, I missed you, sweetheart,” Eric breathes, tightening his legs around Jack’s waist and enjoying the shiver that rolls through Jack’s body. “I love talkin’ to you on Skype, you’re always so good, but it’s been so long since I got to touch you.”

Jack moans wordlessly, his cock twitching in his slacks where it’s trapped under Eric’s ass. He hesitates next to the bed, still holding Eric effortlessly.

“Go ahead and set me down, honey,” Eric directs, unwrapping his legs and sliding down Jack’s body until his feet are on the ground. “That’s it, so good for me. Let’s get you out of these clothes, huh?”

Eric unbuttons Jack’s cuffs, stroking the thin skin of his wrists, before pushing his shirt off and letting it fall to the floor. “There we go,” he murmurs, running his hands back up Jack’s arms, down his chest and stomach. This is something he gets to do; they’re  _ dating, _ Eric can do this  _ all the time. _ “What do you want, sweetheart?”

He waits patiently for Jack to find words, unbuttoning Jack’s slacks and letting them pool on the floor around his feet before peeling his boxer briefs off. “Want you,” Jack says finally, meeting Eric’s eyes almost shyly as Eric urges him down to sit on the edge of the massive bed. “I--can you tell me what to do?” 

“Of course,” Eric soothes, undoing his bowtie and unbuttoning his vest. “Of course I can, honey. And ou can always tell me if you want something. What do you do if you need to stop?”

Jack smiles, his hand tapping the bed twice, his eyes watching avidly as Eric strips out of his clothes.

“Good boy,” Eric says softly, peeling his slacks and underwear down his legs to fall unheeded on the floor. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the effect his words have on Jack. The way that they make him melt just as much as a touch or a kiss. The way that they can bring this big, strong hockey player to his knees, leave him soft and sweet and _ Eric’s _ .

This might be Eric’s first time to be physically present in Jack’s Providence apartment, but after a summer of Skype sessions he knows which drawer of Jack’s nightstand holds the lube, and, apparently, a box of condoms. He retrieves what he needs and climbs up onto the bed, pulling the covers down and settling himself against the pile of pillows at the head of the bed.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Eric says, crooking a finger at Jack. “We’re going to try something, if you think you can do what I tell you?”

Jack nods, sitting back on his heels between Eric’s legs, his cock hard and leaking already. “I--yes. Please.” 

Eric hands over the lube, lifting his hips to tuck a pillow underneath. “I want you to open me up, honey. Do you think you can do that? Get me nice and ready so you can fuck me?”

He can almost  _ see _ the words rippling through Jack, little shivers and shudders like the ones swirling in Eric’s stomach. He wants this, he wants Jack. He trusts Jack. There’s the edge of fear there, still, but if there’s one thing hockey has taught him, it’s that that edge might never go away. Sometimes you just have to be afraid and do it anyway. Sometimes it’s worth it.

Jack coats his fingers with the lube, then hesitates, looking to Eric for direction. 

“Go on,” Eric encourages, planting his feet on the bed. This position should feel exposed, vulnerable, but he’s got Jack hanging on his every instruction, giving up control to him so sweetly. He can’t feel anything but powerful in this moment. “I know you can make me feel good, go ahead, Jack.”

A gentle, barely-there pressure against his ass has Eric rolling his hips up, trying to get Jack’s finger where he wants it. “Don’t tease me,” Eric orders, and the finger presses more firmly, rubbing little circles over his entrance until it slips slowly, gently inside.

“That’s it, that’s so good.” Eric wants to throw his head back on the pillow, to close his eyes and let the sensations wash over him. But he also wants to watch Jack, the way his eyes dart back and forth from Eric’s face to his cock to the place where his finger is disappearing into Eric’s body. “You’re so good, Jack, yes, come on, more, I can take it--”

Jack works his finger in easily, slowly, until he can’t get any deeper, until Eric orders him to add another. He drizzles more lube on his hand before tucking the second finger next to the first. Eric couldn’t say for sure when, exactly, this takes place, because around that time Jack leans down and circles his tongue around the head of Eric’s cock.

“Improvising, Mister Zimmermann?” Eric chirps, but his voice is too breathless to be really considered a reprimand. “I suppose that’s all right, but don’t let it distract you from what you’re supposed to be doing, you hear me?”

His eyes nearly roll back in his head when Jack hums an affirmative, the sound vibrating over Eric’s cock and up his spine, Jack’s long, thick fingers thrusting slowly in and out of his ass. He reaches down blindly, gets his hands in Jack’s hair the way they both like. Jack rewards him with another hum, this one a moan deep in his throat.

“One more,” Eric pants, swallowing hard when the third fingertip nudges inside. “That’s it, honey, right there, fuck, Jack, oh, fuck, you have to stop--” 

He has to use his grip on Jack’s hair to drag him up and off, Jack pouting at him with red, swollen lips, looking like he’d take the slightest opportunity to dive back down and get his mouth back around Eric’s cock. There’s a part of him that wants to let him, wants to let go and fuck Jack’s hot, willing mouth, thrusting up into that wet, waiting heat and grinding back on Jack’s fingers inside him until he comes. 

But this is their first time together as an official couple. As much as they’ve already done together, as well as they know each other, this is new. This is  _ special _ .

“Gonna make me come if you keep that up,” Eric says fondly, rubbing his thumb over Jack’s lower lip. He pulls in a breath when Jack licks at it, thrusts his fingers back inside Eric.

“Thought that was the idea?” Jack chirps, doing his best to suck Eric’s thumb into his mouth.

Eric smiles slowly. “Well, Mister Zimmermann, I don’t want to come until you have that pretty cock inside me. What do you think? Am I ready for you?”

Jack’s eyes flick down almost involuntarily to where his fingers disappear inside Eric, his throat working as he swallows. “I-- _ crisse. _ ” His eyes flutter closed, long lashes resting against the pink skin over his cheekbones.

He swears again when Eric rolls his hips up, fucking himself on Jack’s fingers, a long string of liquid Quebecois that sizzles along Eric’s nerves, brushing over his skin like a caress. “Yeah,” Eric says breathlessly, his fingers digging into Jack’s biceps. “I’m ready, Jack, come on--”

The words catch in his throat when Jack curls his fingertips up, dragging them slowly over Eric’s prostate as he pulls them out, leaving an unpleasant emptiness behind. Eric spares a moment to be grateful for text messages, because he doesn’t think he could have had the testing conversation face to face, or even over Skype. As it was, he thought a few times that he might actually die of embarrassment

But they made it through, and now--they’re in a committed relationship, an  _ exclusive _ relationship, and there’s a special thrill to watching Jack slick lube over his cock, knowing that there isn’t going to be anything but skin between them.

“Come on, honey,” Eric urges, rubbing his hands up and down Jack’s arms, enjoying the feel of all those muscles flexing under his touch. “I’m ready, I’m so ready. Need you to fuck me.” 

Jack groans, his hand tightening reflexively on his cock, but he lets Eric pull him closer, lines himself up and looks up at Eric for direction.

“Do it, come on,” Eric urges, lifting a leg and wrapping it around Jack’s waist, and oh--

Eric throws his head back on the pillow, doing his best to bear down and breathe as Jack pushes inside. It’s a stretch, even with the prep, of course it is, but it’s so good, so-- “Oh, fuck,” he gasps, most of the breath lost from his lungs. “Fuck, Jack, that’s so good, just like that, fuck, don’t stop, you feel so good--”

They both moan when Jack bottoms out, his hipbones pressed against the curve of Eric’s ass. He’s so deep, hard and thick and hot, so good, even if he’s not moving, why--oh. 

Eric opens his eyes, and Jack--Jack looks  _ wrecked _ , teeth digging into his lower lip, hair a mess from Eric’s hands, his face and neck flushed and sweaty. He’s shaking a little, tiny tremors running through his body, holding himself completely still except for that.

“Need you to move, honey,” Eric says, rolling his hips up just a little, trying to get Jack just a little deeper. “Come on, Jack--”

Jack’s first thrust steals his breath, his words, his ability to focus on anything but the slow, slick slide. Eric wraps his legs around Jack’s waist, moaning a little at the improved angle, the drag of Jack’s cock over his prostate with the next stroke. 

“Yes,” he moans, forcing his eyes to stay open, to watch Jack. “Yes, Jack, I’m not--fuck, not gonna last, it’s so good, you’re so good--”

“ _ Crisse calice d’tabernak,”  _ Jack gasps, a shudder rolling through his body and into Eric’s, his thrusts quickening at the words.

Eric forces himself to let go of Jack’s arm and reach down, to get a hand around his cock where it’s leaking against his belly. “Fuck, Jack, a little faster now, okay, honey? I’m so close--fuck--yes--right there--”

He can tell that Jack is close, too, from the catch in his breathing, the shivers in his muscles, the way every third or fourth stroke loses the steady rhythm. Eric keeps his hand moving over his cock, his hips rolling up to meet Jack’s strokes, lets his mouth run. “Yes, yes, yes, Jack, yes, so good, fuck, I’m close, I’m close, fuck, Jack, you’re gonna--make me--”

His throat closes on the words when he comes, his body arching up off the bed. He can feel, vaguely, Jack’s thrusts speeding up, going erratic, hear Jack gasp above him. He pries his eyes open just in time to see Jack throw his head back as he comes, his whole body going taut, driving deep into Eric one last time.

“Come here,” Eric breathes, pulling Jack down until he can kiss him, both of them shuddering a little at the way Jack’s cock moves inside Eric, slipping out a little bit. Eric’s heart is still hammering in his chest and he’s starting to feel a slight ache as the endorphins fade. But right now he needs to kiss Jack, to feel Jack’s lips against his, Jack’s weight pressing him to the bed.

It takes a bit of persuading, and there’s a small intermission for cleanup, but eventually they’re nestled together in Jack’s big bed, free to kiss and touch and talk as much as they want. 

“Lord,” Eric says finally, his fingers trailing back and forth across Jack’s collarbone. “If you’d told me a year ago that this is where we’d end up, that first day in the shower--”

Jack captures his hand, lifting it to brush a kiss across his fingertips, his knuckles. “I know. I had a plan for my senior year, you know. Falling for you wasn’t even a little part of it.”

Eric’s heart thumps hard against his chest, the word “falling” echoing in his ears. “Should I apologize for messing up your plans, Mister Zimmermann?” he chirps, getting his other hand in Jack’s hair and massaging his scalp, watching with smug satisfaction as Jack’s eyes slide half-closed with pleasure.

“Don’t you dare,” Jack says softly, snuggling closer into Eric’s side. “It was perfect. You were perfect.”

“I don’t know that I’d say--” 

Jack cuts off his protest with a gentle kiss. “Maybe not perfect,” he allows when he finally pulls back. “But to get to be here now, with you, like this? It’s worth it. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Eric has to swallow around the lump in his throat, has to pull Jack closer. “Me either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! We made it. Thanks to everyone who subscribed, commented, left kudos, and were willing to wait, even when I lost the thread of this fic for months. Your sweet encouragement was so important to me! 
> 
> To those of you waiting until completion, here we are! I hope it was worth the wait!


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